


no such mirrors

by Kalopsia



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Graphic Description of Injuries, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Slow Burn, Superpowers, Too Many New Jersey References, christine is a superhero called The Tempest, i keep updating these tags lol sorry, it's a spiderman!jeremy au, obv the squip is the evil villain, really there are so many, there's also teenagers being teenagers, there's angst but it's gotta get worse before it gets better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-11-03 05:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10960287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalopsia/pseuds/Kalopsia
Summary: Jeremy didn’t know of any other superhero that had tocommute.Sometimes he was alone when he got the text, and it was easy to slide open the window and sling on over to whatever disaster was striking the City That Could Never Catch a Break. Other times it was during things like his parent’s divorce hearings, in Hackensack, and he’d have to spend his bar mitzvah money on a cab ride to the bridge and change into his spandex in the bathroom of a Dunkin' Donuts. Even at home, he'd have to spend fifteen minutes slinging webs across highways and toll booths and the George Washington Bridge before he even saw what he was up against.At least Christine couldfly.(or, the AU nobody asked for in which Jeremy is Spiderman and the rest of the crew has superpowers, except Michael, who has No Idea About Anything except for the fact he's Spiderman's #1 fan)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i saw some people talking about jeremy being spiderman and i hopped the fuck on board.

 

 

 

It had been seven months since Mr. Reyes showed up at the Midsummer Night’s Dream cast party and given them all the jungle juice that had changed their lives.

Nobody had believed Rich when he stumbled into the living room claiming he just saw their director in his kitchen, pouring Mountain Dew into a tub filled with other mysterious liquids. Everyone else had laughed it off as him being too drunk, maybe he should stay away from the jungle juice, he probably shouldn’t drink so much for a small guy.

The last thing Jeremy remembered was toasting his cup against Christine’s before downing it in one go. The next thing he could recall was waking up the next morning, asleep on the ceiling and covered in thick spider webs, cheek smushed against the chandelier in Jake’s dining room.

His subsequent scream woke up the others, except for Rich, who had been lighting candles below him with his fingertips. Christine floated into the room, crashing into Rich’s chair and almost lighting the dining room on fire.

“I’m never drinking Jungle Juice again!” Rich wailed as he waved his hands, which were now just two flaming fists.

“It’s not the Jungle Juice’s fault!” Christine said. _“Please stop waving your hands before you light the house on fire!”_

“Why is Heere on the ceiling?” Jake asked, pointing to where Jeremy was still struggling to get himself down. “Also, Rich, listen to Canigula! You’re gonna burn down my fuckin’ house!”

“Fuck you, man!” Rich shrieked, still waving his hands. “I’m literally on fire!”

Chloe stormed into the room, followed by Brooke and an oddly calm and weirdly buff Jake. Chloe looked up at Jeremy, then at the small fire Rich was trying to put out, then at Christine hovering a few inches in the air, and said very firmly, “Somebody better tell me what the _fuck_ is going on.”

They didn’t realize until much later that everybody’s sudden frantic renditions of the story only came because Chloe had asked for them, and not because they were equally as freaked out.

It had taken them two months to figure out that Brooke and Chloe had the power to manipulate people, but only when they were together. It had taken them another two weeks to realize that Jake had basically just become an improved version of himself, (“I get stuck with fucking _bug powers_ and he just becomes _more perfect?”_ Jeremy had said over lunch with Christine, stabbing angrily into his mac and cheese. Christine had just eyed Jake’s flexing arms as he lifted himself into his Jeep and sighed, “Tell me about it.”).

It had been five months since Mr. Reyes had tried to kill everybody in the cast, and potentially the world, on opening night. Jeremy had stolen his latex blue-and-red costume from the school and adopted it as his disguise. Five months since he had saved the day by being late for the show, by webbing everybody against the set and fire-extinguishing the entire stage.

Five months since Mr. Reyes had gone down screaming something about a quantum supercomputer, about how all these dumb, meddling teenagers had completed the objective and now had to die because the test was over.

The audience had loved it. So had the world, after pictures and stories of the disaster had spread across social media. Blurry images of the mystery boy in the red and blue suit had gone viral overnight, prompting various other villains to try their luck at world domination, or mass murder, or whatever crime they had landed on after spinning the Wheel of Misfortune.

And thus, the Superhero Era began, and Spiderman was born.  

 

*            *             *

 

“So,” Jeremy said, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it inches above his nose. “This Squip. What do you think of him?”

Michael snorted and leaned to the left. Jeremy could hear his bean-bag chair rustling and the rapid laser fire on the screen. “He’s just another try-hard psychopath looking for fifteen minutes of fame. Nobody will care about him in like, two days.”

“People are _dying_ , Michael.”

“Yeah, hence: psychopath.” There was a sharp intake of breath from his best friend, and then Michael groaned as the game narrator’s voice announced his character’s death. “Fuck. I was so close to beating that stupid Kirby, too.”

Jeremy’s fingers curved as the ball left his hand, then fell neatly back into it. “You can’t beat Nasty level CPU’s in Smash, dumbass. Even with Zelda.”

“If Zelda can’t do it, nobody can,” Michael sighed, then dropped his controller on the carpet and fell back in his chair so his hair brushed against Jeremy’s. It was getting longer these days, sometimes falling into Michael’s eyes when his gel wore off. Jeremy often wanted to run his hands through it. “I bet one of those heroes will take care of him anyway.”

“Kirby?” The ball brushed against the ceiling and spiraled off course. Michael reached his hand up and caught it, tossing it gently back in the air and back into Jeremy’s grip. “You wish.”

“The Squip.”

“They’re not superheroes. They’re just people. With extra abilities. Or something.”

“No, they’re definitely superheroes,” Michael said, sitting back up. Jeremy’s scalp went cold without him pressed against it. “Remember that time Spiderman saved everyone’s life during the play? When half the cast got mind controlled and were gonna start destroying everything? I know you weren’t there because of that freak stomach bug or whatever, but if you’d seen Spiderman swooping in and being all like, _webs webs webs!-_ you’d wouldn’t just call that ‘special abilities.’ Remember the pictures I sent you?”

Jeremy hummed in response. The ball fell into his hand again, but he rubbed his thumb across the knitting instead of tossing it into the air again. He recalled the blurry photos of the destroyed stage and the dazed looks on everyone's faces. Remembered freaking out in his costume, barely able to use his powers and being forced to do it in front of an _audience._ Remembered the empty looks on Brooke and Chloe and Rich’s faces. Remembered how Mr. Reyes had controlled their every move, how Christine had cried as she grabbed Jeremy’s neck against her will.

He clenched his teeth and said, “Yeah. Maybe if I’d been there.”

“He was _insane,_ Jeremy. He literally appeared out of nowhere! And he knew where to find the fire extinguisher! The closest one to the stage that’s hidden next the sink! I thought _we_ were the only ones that knew about it from that time we did _Urinetown_ and the mic exploded!”

“Oh, wow. The _secret fire extinguisher._ Yeah, a real superhero.”

“He’s gotta be so smart, man. Probably has blueprints of every building in the tri-state area.”

“Who would go out of their way to find out _anything_ about New Jersey?”

“Spiderman would.”

“Maybe he just goes to Middleborough,” Jeremy said, not meeting Michael’s eyes. His grip tightened on the baseball.

“Don’t even _insinuate_ that, asshole,” Michael gasped, scandalized. “If _Spiderman_ went to our high school, I would know.”

“How?”

“Because I _love him_.”

“Literally everyone knows that, Michael,” Jeremy muttered. He rubbed the inside of his wrist, fighting the flash of panic that came with the thought of Michael finding out about his secret. He didn’t know why he wanted him to think that Spiderman could go to Middleboro.  Ideally, Michael would think that Spiderman was a dick so he wouldn’t worship him and so he’d stop putting himself in danger. But his mouth continued, “Going to Middleboro makes sense though. Would explain why he’s not doing jack shit about the fucking Squip.”

“You gotta admit that he’s doing more than anybody else!”

“More than anybody else doesn’t mean _enough,”_ Jeremy sat up and leaned against the wall, staring at the bouncing Zelda with a second place medal next to her head on Michael’s TV.  His phone buzzed in his pocket. “Anyway, it’s whatever. Do you have any Cheetos?”

Michael frowned at him, but stood up and disappeared upstairs to the kitchen anyway, muttering something like _Spiderman? At_ Middleboro? _What a dumb fucking concept, as if I wouldn’t know._

Jeremy could hear his footsteps above him as his best friend’s voice trailed off. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

 

**_xtine:_ ** _JEREMY come HERE (pun only a little bit intended!!)_

 

Christine had attached her location right below it. She was in Upper Manhattan right across the bridge. Jeremy closed his eyes and let his head fall against the wall, wondering why people never chose to terrorize northern New Jersey instead, where it was easier for Jeremy to get to. The world could certainly do without certain parts of it.

Across the basement, he heard Michael’s footsteps crashing down the stairs and the faint rustle of the Cheetos. Jeremy opened his eyes just in time to catch the bag as Michael tossed it to him. He caught it with one hand that almost seemed to be acting of its own volition.

Michael raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Dude! Reflexes! Maybe you _should_ try out for a sport. It’d probably stop the gay rumors.”

Jeremy opened the bag and thought of the _Boyf_ written on his backpack, faded but still visible even after months of trying to scrub off.  He shoveled a mouthful of orange crisps into his mouth and spoke quickly through the crumbs, “Ha. Yeah. Maybe. Probably a one-off catch though.”

Michael sat back down on his beanbag. “You okay, dude? You’ve been acting a little off.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jeremy said, then remembered Christine’s text. “Actually. Um. My… stomach. Has been acting up?”

“Maybe you should lay off the Cheetos.”

Jeremy handed Michael the bag. “Yeah, ha, you’re probably right. Uh. I think. I think I’m gonna go now, actually. Hurts a lot worse than I realized, now that you mentioned it.”

Michael tilted his head, some of the weaker-gelled strands of hair falling across his forehead. “You sure you’re okay man? Want me to drive you home?

“Nah, I’m good. I shouldn’t leave my car here, anyway. My dad would flip.”

“You sure?”

“We’re good, I promise,” Jeremy stood and started towards the stairs, then turned around. “Michael? I’m sorry.”

“It’s all g-”

“I know I’ve been acting like shit recently and this was supposed to be you and me and Super Smash and then I didn’t even play anything with you-”

“Dude, if you’re sick you’re sick. You’ve been acting off since the play. Just, y’know. Sleep tonight. Take an advil or something,” Michael raised his eyebrows and gave him a gentle smile. “I’ll text you tomorrow, yeah?”

Jeremy smiled back. “Yeah. ‘Course. Always.”

Michael held out a fist, which Jeremy lightly bumped his own against. “Alright, Dumble _bro_. See you tomorrow!”

“Bye, Lord _Bro_ ldemort,” Jeremy said, the nickname falling easily off his tongue. The familiarity of the exchange almost took away the guilt weighing in his stomach as he climbed the stairs and left the house. He got into his car and pulled out his phone, typing a quick response to Christine, before he threw the Prius in reverse and sped down the street towards his house.

At home, he called out a quick greeting to his dad, who was asleep on the couch and still in his underwear, making this Day Nine Since Jeremy Had Last Seen His Father In Quite Literally Any Pair of Pants. The TV was showing footage of a girl with short black hair and a mask floating in front of a skyscraper, her fists clenched as she sped through the air around a massive blue-skinned man-like creature. The women on the television were talking about the shape of the mask, and how it didn’t quite complement the girl’s round face.

Jeremy raced up the stairs, shucking his shoes and shirt along the way. In his room, he knelt down in front of his closet and shoved aside the years worth of old costumes, which he had placed there in the hopes of distracting anybody who came snooping.

He dug around the closet and dragged out the translucent bin that lived behind his outgrown clothes and stumbled into the red and blue lycra suit that he kept inside. He slid his window open with one hand then pulled himself onto the ledge with the other, yanking on his mask on as he stepped out onto the roof.

The bridge and the New York City skyline sparkled in the near distance, just barely visible through the line of trees that marked the New Jersey border. Jeremy rolled his neck and cracked his wrists, breathing deeply through the mask.

Then, without a second thought, he jumped off the roof.

 

*              *             *

 

Jeremy didn’t know of any other superhero that had to _commute_.

He figured there should be some sort of special public transport specifically for mutants, or some sort of Facebook group for carpooling systems, just so he didn’t have to spend fifteen minutes slinging webs across highways and toll booths and the George Washington Bridge before he even saw what he was up against. Instead, he was stuck with spider webs and clinging to the roofs of cars. At least Christine could _fly._

They had developed a system, though, in the last few months since they had started this Superhero Inc. business. Brooke would usually text Christine about something crazy happening in whatever part of the Metropolitan Area. Christine would fly on over and text Jeremy about it, who would always have to awkwardly struggle to try and get out of whatever situation he was in in order to be _second on the scene_. Sometimes he was alone, and it was easy to slide open the window and sling on over to whatever disaster was striking the City That Could Never Catch a Break. Other times it was during things like his parent’s divorce hearings, in Hackensack, and he’d have to spend his bar mitzvah money on a cab ride and change into spandex in a Dunkin Donuts bathroom.

But most of the time, Jeremy tended to be with Michael. And every time he had to drop his controller, or blow off a movie night, or run away as soon as it was his turn to puff-puff-pass, Michael’s shoulders fell a little lower, and his reassurances got a little quieter. Jeremy hated it, and every time it happened he wanted to just tell Michael all about how hard it was to battle supervillains while high.

But he couldn’t risk telling Michael about it, in case something ever happened to him. It would be too easy to use Michael to get to him. It would be too easy for Michael to talk Jeremy into getting involved. It would be too easy for Michael to be kidnapped, or hurt, or killed-

_“Hello?_ Earth to Spidey?” it was Christine, hovering a few feet away from the glass window that Jeremy was latched onto. Her arms were crossed.  From her frown, she had been speaking for a while before Jeremy had heard her. “You with me now?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking. I had to ditch Michael again.”

Christine gave him a sympathetic look. “I know it sucks that you keep having to leave him behind. But we do kind of have, um, _bigger_ problems to deal with.”

She nodded towards the seventy foot tall man that was standing on the roof of a bank two blocks away. A hundred feet below him, Jeremy could hear the muted screams of the public running for their lives. The blue man was screaming about world domination.

Jeremy nodded and adjusted his mask with one hand. “Okay, Tempest. Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is from shakespeare! (original ik). it comes from a quote that's essentially like "too bad there aren't any mirrors that show you how AWESOME YOU ARE." 
> 
> lmao i h8 doing chaptered works bc i suck at updating so i'm hoping to get this done in either a few very long chapters or im gonna just add the rest of it in one big chunk as a second chapter. 
> 
> i haven't written fic in a few years but here we are. shoutout to debi @ debusya.tumblr.com for helpin me out and turn this into something objectively less shitty. 
> 
> im danisnotofire on tumblr if u wanna say hi! please comment lmao i #live for them


	2. Chapter 2

Jeremy never _asked_ to be a superhero.  

The first time he had tried to use his powers, (well, the first time since he’d woken up on Jake’s ceiling trapped by his own web, which, sadly wasn’t even close to the last time that had happened), he had ended up with two broken fingers and a black eye after he fell off a small building. Michael had ragged him for days after Jeremy refused to tell him how it happened, his varying “Jacked it a little _too_ hard, bro?” comments getting more absurd with every time Jeremy went red and denied them.

In the beginning, he just didn’t want Michael to think he was a freak. He didn’t have anybody else, and he didn’t want to be alone. Sure, there was the rest of the cast, but at the time, the group’s initial tentative friendship had felt more like _“you’re the only other people in the world who know what it’s like to have superpowers so we may as well try and figure it out together”_ and less of an actual friend group.

Michael was all Jeremy had, and he’d rather be subject to his relentless masturbation jokes than hear none of his jokes at all.  

Then, because ever since the cast party his main extracurricular had become Making the World A Better Place, Jake had mentioned fighting crime. Rich had shut him down with a hard no _,_ claiming, “If I can’t figure out how to use my _flaming fists of fire_ well enough to help with that, then it’s not fucking happening. You can’t all become superheroes without me, I was the one who saw Reyes with the jungle juice in the first place! Also, you guys would be a shit superhero squad without me. Did I mention my flaming fists? _Of fire?_ ”

 Christine, however, had taken a quiet liking to the idea. She’d confronted Jeremy when they were getting bagels before rehearsal, quietly bringing up the idea of training together and fighting together and _maybe, just, y’know… giving some bad guys a little bit of hell?_

 Jeremy didn’t even consider it. He had laughed, ordered his rainbow bagel with cream cheese, and said, “If I can’t even walk down the hallway without tripping, Christine, what makes you think I’d be good enough to help _anyone?”_

Then the play happened, and Jeremy had three seconds to decide whether or not his friends were going to die, and he wasn’t exactly thinking about consequences when he slipped into the spandex suit and did his best to keep everyone from killing each other. It was just a fluke that his frantic flailing had actually _worked._

But then the newspapers kept calling on Spiderman every time something shitty happened in the tri-state area, and Christine kept showing up at his window saying, “Race you?” in her attempt to making training _fun_ , and Brooke kept texting their group chat when some asshole showed up in the city, and eventually Jeremy’s webby commute to New York to fight crime after school became part of his routine.

 But that didn’t mean it was easy.

For all the time Jeremy spent as Spiderman trying to keep as many people alive as he could, he was still a high school junior as soon as he got home. It was easy to put on the mask and become somebody else that people _cared_ about.  

Spiderman didn’t stutter when he spoke to strangers. Spiderman wasn’t failing chemistry. Spiderman didn’t have panic attacks in the shower at the thought of what would happen if he let somebody get hurt. Spiderman didn’t lose sleep over college applications or the fact he might not be as straight as he wanted everyone to believe or the fact that for all his efforts to keep Michael safe, all he ever ended up doing was getting closer to being discovered and probably losing Michael forever.

Spiderman didn’t do any of that. Spiderman just shot webs and saved the day.

Jeremy, on the other hand, wondered how long he would need the mask in order to be okay, and what would happen when he had to give it up.

 

*  *  *

 

It was meatloaf day at Middleborough, which meant that Jeremy had passed on lunch in favor of a small hoard of snacks from the vending machine. Michael had a free period before lunch on Fridays, so Jeremy was subject to the will of the caf while his best friend enjoyed New Jersey’s culinary best, meaning an inevitable return with either bagels or pizza. Brooke and Chloe were scrolling through their phones, Rich was napping with his cheek pressed against the grating of the outdoor lunch table while Jake carefully stacked Goldfish crackers on his head, and Christine was recapping the previous day’s events.

 “It was simply a matter of me kicking him in the nose to distract him, while Jeremy webbed his legs. He tipped over, did you guys see that on the news?” She beamed at Jeremy, who blushed and ducked his head. “I don’t know how they’re gonna get him out of the street, though. He’s pretty tall.”

 “Maybe they’ll shrink-ray him?” Jake offered.

Christine tilted her head. “This isn’t a Rick Moranis movie, Jake.”

 _“Honey, I Shrunk the Kids!”_ Jake said, nodding and pointing towards Christine. “I understood that reference! Good one, Canigula.” 

Jeremy unwrapped his third breakfast bar of the day and tried to ignore how Nutri-Grain strawberries managed to replicate the exact texture of wet cement. His chemistry homework was spread out in front of him, but it was blank. After the battle yesterday, Jeremy had webbed home and passed out, too exhausted to even open his backpack. It had been plenty hard to get up early enough to shower, and even then he had walked into his first period six seconds after the late bell, hair still wet and clinging to the back of his neck.

“Are you doing chem? What’d you get for number four?” Brooke asked, grabbing the worksheet and pulling it towards her. He stuttered, but she was already reading it over, her lips curving into a frown. “Jeremy, this is blank.”

“Is it?” Jeremy said, fighting the red that was burning his ears. “Oh. Guess I used the wrong pen. My. Uh. Invisible ink one.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. Here, let me help you-”

Jeremy made a reach to get his homework back, but she just held it further away from his hands. “I can do it on my own, Brooke.”

“You had all night to do it on your own, but we have a quiz next period and it’s probably gonna be open book from this exact assignment, and do you really want to fail another one?”

Brooke was his lab partner. She tried to help him out as much as she could, but he didn’t want to rely on cheating off other people in order to get through it. If he couldn’t take a test without cheating, then maybe he didn’t deserve to pass the grade.

“‘Sup, my dudes,” Michael said, clapping a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder as he was about to reply to Brooke and sitting down next to him. He was carrying a slushie and half of a wrapped bagel, which he offered to Jeremy. “Here, take this. It’s meatloaf day and I _know_ you’re not gonna eat that shit.”

“You’re my _hero,”_ Jeremy breathed, all thoughts related to chemistry disappearing as he tore into the everything bagel, ignoring the way Michael's content smile made his stomach flip. “I thought I’d never eat again.”

“From the looks of you, you never even ate in the first place. What do you weigh, seven pounds?” Chloe said, flipping her hair and putting her phone down. “Also, Michael, I am not a dude, thank you very much.”

“‘Dude’ is gender neutral,” Michael informed her.  “Also. Unrelated. But, did you guys see what happened yesterday in the city? People have been all over The Tempest on Twitter. They’re calling her the hero we’ve been waiting for. Like, come _on._ ”

Christine looked up at that. “She is. Obviously.”

Michael scoffed. “She is absolutely _not_ . Look, the Tempest is great and all, but all _she_ does is fly and distract while Spiderman does all the hard work. Also, I love a good mask, but she’s gotta do better in the costume department. I’d recognize her in real life in a _heartbeat._ ”

Christine raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that one?”

“You’re just saying that because you like Spidey’s spandex,” Chloe said. “You should start a blog. ‘Behind the Mask: How I Got Stuck in Spiderman’s Web and in His Pants.’” 

“Who says I don’t have one already?” Michael beamed, and Jeremy choked on his bagel. “Wait, related to that. I saw this thing on the news yesterday that said there’s a paper in the city looking for someone to takes pictures of him.”

“Of _Spiderman?”_ Jeremy asked, trying to speak through the cream cheese that was caught in his throat as Jake pounded his back unhelpfully. “No. Absolutely not. That’s like, the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard! You’re not gonna be able to get a good picture of him. He moves too fast.”

“Jeremy, come on. It’s a hundred bucks _per photo._ You know what that means for my college fund? Good things. Really good things. Like, actually being able to go to college,” Michael nudged him. “And besides. Maybe I’d get to meet him. Tell him how I feel.”

Jeremy's heart stuttered, but he forced himself to remember that Michael had no idea that he was Spiderman. None of his infatuation with Jermey's alter-ego transferred to real life. They were just friends. Best friends. Best friends that were completely platonic, with no extra feelings thrown in to make things even messier than they were. Yeah. If he kept saying it enough, maybe it would become the truth.  

“You could get _hurt_ ,” Jeremy hissed, ignoring the way his chest tightened at the thought. He stared at Michael, trying to get him to understand, but he seemed resolute. 

“Spiderman wouldn’t let that happen. He saves _everyone_.”

Jeremy looked at Michael and tried to ignore the pang of guilt that came at seeing the hope in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“You two are adorable,” Jake and Brooke said earnestly, in unison, then turned to each other and said, _“Jinx!”_

“Keep it in your pants, Michael,” Chloe rolled her eyes. “It’s lunchtime. We’re in public. Have some decency.”

Just then, Rich jolted up from his nap, the goldfish that Jake had so carefully balanced flying everywhere and the pattern of the rubberized outdoor picnic table imprinted on his cheek. “Whoa. Whoa. Where am I. This isn’t real? How long was I out?”

Michael and Christine burst into giggles, while Jake patiently explained to Rich that he’d just woken up from a twenty minute nap, and that they were eating at the picnic tables in their high school’s outdoor courtyard.

“You have a free next period, right?” Rich asked Jake, who nodded. “Okay. You need to help me with something. Right now. Let’s go.”

Rich grabbed Jake’s hand and pulled him away. Jake gave them all raised eyebrows and said, “Duty calls!”, before disappearing back inside the building.

 “They’re definitely fucking,” Chloe said. “Anyway, this was fun, but I need to get to class. Later, losers. Brooke, you coming?”

Brooke nodded and handed Jeremy back his chemistry homework, which was now completed in glittering purple pen.  He looked at her helplessly, and she shrugged and said, “At least it’s not blank! Bye, babes!”

Christine tossed her napkin into her empty container of fries and got up to join Brooke and Chloe. “I’ll join you guys. I need to head on over to Trig early and ask a question, anyway. Bye, Jeremy. Bye, Spider-fan.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Michael said, faux-touched. The three girls walked away snickering, leaving Michael and Jeremy alone at the table in silence. Jeremy picked at the sandwich leftovers and tried to figure out when it got so hard to talk to his best friend.

“So...” Jeremy muttered. “Are you really gonna take this job?”

“Uh, yeah?” Michael said, squinting his eyes behind his glasses. “Look, Jer, I know you’re not the biggest fan of superheroes, but-”

“It’s not that.” 

“Then what? Because you’ve been acting shady ever since I first _mentioned_ him.”

“Why do you like him so much?” Jeremy asked, meeting Michael’s eyes. “I mean. You’ve never even met him.”

Michael stared across the courtyard, chewing on his lip.  “I guess I just like the idea that he tries. Even when it seems like nobody else is.”

“But what about the others? He’s not the only superhero out there. What about the Tempest? Or the Toxic Talkers? Or-”

“I’m gay, Jeremy.”

“I know! I know,” Jeremy sighed. “God. Is that really all of them? Why are there so many more supervillains than super _heroes?”_

Michael smiled. “It’s ‘cause they don’t need as many to do their job.”

 Jeremy wanted to cry. He didn’t deserve this faith that Michael had in him. He was just a loser who, up until a few months ago, only had one friend and spent the majority of his time getting stoned and watching shitty YouTube videos until the sun rose. He wanted to go back to that, before he drank that stupid jungle juice and before his veins started shooting webs and before he had to keep anything from Michael at all.

Well. Before he had to keep  _more_ things from Michael. He figured there were some things Michael could  _never_ know. Like how Jeremy stole Michael's Shiny Mew Pokémon card in the fourth grade. Or how Jeremy sometimes stole Michael's sweatshirts from their shared gym locker when he forgot to bring his own and never gave them back. Or how these days, Jeremy found himself wanting to do things that were probably less than strictly platonic. Like hold him. And kiss him. And maybe shove him up against a wall and search for all the places that made Michael-

 _Nope,_ Jeremy thought.  _Not going there now._

But the point still stood. Things like _that_ were exactly why Michael could never know, and exactly why Michael should never have developed all this stupid blind loyalty for him. All Jeremy did was take, and he  _still_ wanted more. 

“It’s just," Jeremy said instead of following that _particular_ train of thought. "You keep going _towards_ where the people are getting killed.”

“I’m not gonna die, Jeremy,” Michael said, looking back at him. “I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Jeremy met his eyes, which had turned the color of deep amber in the sun. His hair was gleaming and his were eyebrows slightly raised, desperate to get Jeremy on the same page, pleading with him to understand, trying to end a battle the two of them had been waging for months.

His face looked so bare and open, his blind trust in the universe that Spiderman would always save him written plainly across his features.

And he was _right,_ Jeremy thought, his heart stopping with the force of the realization. Spiderman _would_ do everything he could to protect him. Michael, who had the New Jersey high score in Pacman, who took him to a Weird Al concert when they were thirteen, who threw Jeremy a one-man surprise party on his half-birthday because otherwise he’d be expecting it, who cried out of sheer relief when he came out to Jeremy in the ninth grade because he was the first person he ever told and didn’t know what to expect, who showed up at Jeremy’s house with a _High School Musical 2_ DVD and the first bag of weed he ever bought on the day Jeremy’s mom left, and let Jeremy claim his red-rimmed eyes were from the pot. Michael, who was the most important person in Jeremy’s life and didn’t even have to compete for the spot.  

Spiderman wouldn’t let anything happen to Michael, because Jeremy was already willing to move cities and face death for him. It wasn’t a new feeling, it was just something Jeremy hadn’t put into words until Michael had looked at him with his dumb amber eyes and stupid floppy hair and swore he wouldn’t die just because Jeremy couldn’t handle it if he did. And that scared him more than anything.

 _Jesus Christ,_ Jeremy thought, but said quietly instead, “I know you wouldn’t. Sorry I was a dick about the job.”

Michael’s smile split his face. “It’s all good, dude. Hey, I just bought a fresh gram, do you wanna smoke tonight? We can make mac and cheese and watch _Super 8_ in my basement.”

Jeremy’s eyes crinkled, and he nodded. “Sounds perfect.”

Michael grinned again, then started rambling about the similarities between _Super 8_ and _Stranger Things._ Jeremy just put his chin in his hand and let him talk.

For now, at least, heroism could wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading and liking the last chapter :)) here are some notes! 
> 
> -ok idk if this is common knowledge or whatever but rainbow baglels are a real thing that people genuinely order in nj. also northern nj is very protective of our pizza and our bagels. hence that.  
> -brooke and chloe's powers are that they can manipulate people and kind of influence them to do a certain thing, but only when they're together (this will be described further later)  
> -jake is basically just captain america except captain america doesn't exist in this universe, hence the "i understood that reference" reference  
> -rich can light himself on fire but has no idea how to control it, jeremy is obv spiderman, and christine can fly  
> -where's jenna rolan? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> -i am 100% aware that nobody says 'fresh gram' part irl, but i really like the idea of michael being absolutely clueless when it comes to buying weed. obv, jeremy has no idea either, which is why it's not mentioned. also, dont do drugs kids!!  
> -shoutout to my girl debi @ debusya.tumblr.com for reading this over and making sure it's not as shitty as it could be!! im danisnotofire on tumblr if u wanna swing by (spiderman pun intended)  
> -please comment bc as u know i #live for that!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was eleven pages in google docs lol. have fun! (warning: jeremy gets pretty battered here. this chapter isn't as light as the other ones. there's some blood and bruising and telekinetic controlling against people's will. also, jeremy uses ace bandaging to wrap his ribs at one point, but he's not using it for binding! it's just to compress and help an injury he gets :)

Turns out, heroism didn’t wait for anybody. 

Jeremy awoke with a start to his phone buzzing against his leg. Grumbling and rolling over, he squinted as he fumbled for his phone and tried to get his eyes to adjust to normal instead of feeling like he was staring at the actual fucking Sun.

Though still blurry, he saw there were seventeen missed calls from Chloe, eighty-three unread texts in the _Subway Soup or Hero?_ group chat, and a Facetime from Michael, presumably from when he had been high.

 _Michael._  

He sat up and looked over at his best friend, who was snoring on his bed. Jeremy rubbed his eyes and dragged himself up so he was leaning against the wall, taking survey of his surroundings.

Empty ginger ale bottles and crumpled Cheetos bags littered the floor. Michael’s Darth Vader bowl was sitting on the ground next to the now-empty bag of weed. The world still felt hazy and Jeremy was simultaneously very aware of his fingers on the phone and also wasn’t panicking at the sight of all the unread messages, which meant that he was still high. _Christ._

His phone vibrated again in his hand. Jeremy groaned as he stood up and cracked his back before heading to the bathroom to take the call.

“Hello?”

 _“Jeremy,”_ it was Chloe, and she sounded far more panicky than anybody should at four fifteen in the morning. “You have to get to the bridge right now. It’s the Squip. He’s trying to- I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but it’s not great.”

Jeremy felt a flash of panic at that, but it buzzed away as quickly as it came. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and blinked at the wall. Everything was just a little too scattered for him to piece together. “What bridge?” 

“What do you fucking mean, what bridge? The George Washington.”

“Oh. Yeah. I know the one.”

“Christ, Jeremy, are you high?” When Jeremy didn’t answer, she cursed again. “Fuck. Okay. Well. Christine can’t do this alone and Brooke isn’t answering her phone. So you need to get the fuck over here _.”_

“Heere,” Jeremy said, then processed what she was saying. “Right. Okay. GW Bridge. Yeah. See you soon.”  

 _“Hurry,_ dumbass,” Chloe hissed, then hung up.

Jeremy stood up and caught his own gaze in the mirror. He blinked. His eyes were red and puffy and his hair was sticking up in every possible angle. There was a little bit of dried spit on the side of his chin. His mouth felt thick. He burped, and it tasted like weed.

Perfect.

 

*           *          *

 

He grabbed his suit from his backpack and snuck out of Michael’s house, leaving a note in case he woke up before he got back. Jeremy made his way to the bridge, but he had no sense of how long it took him to get there, and almost smacked into three too many trees for all the times he couldn’t stop staring at the city skyline.

He was brought back to reality when he jumped and landed next to Chloe’s car, which was parked on the curved highway that led to the bridge. A few hundred feet away, dozens of cop cars had their alarms blaring and lights flashing as they tried to control the situation. Chloe rolled down her window and motioned him over.

“Alright, listen up Spidey,” she said when he got closer. “First of all, I did not pay fifteen bucks for this toll just to watch my friends get their asses kicked, so you better fucking get your shit together before you take him on, okay?”

Jeremy nodded, trying to figure out which of Chloe’s eyes to focus on. He settled for her nose, then realized she couldn’t even see him through the mask, then realized she was still speaking. “-Also, please be careful, because I’m not sure how well aiming webs or whatever it is you do and being high go together? Don’t know if you’ve noticed , but it’s a bridge. Over the Hudson.”

“I’m not that high,” Jeremy said, mostly just to reassure himself. He wasn’t sure what was the pot and what was his bleariness from being woken up, but everything was still fuzzy.

“Okay, good, because there’s nothing for you to web to on that river,” Chloe said. “Now, please go help Christine before the girl gets herself killed because he insulted _Hello, Dolly_ or whatever.”

Jeremy nodded, cracked his wrists, and slung himself to the western tower of the bridge, where Christine was hovering. He landed on a broad metal beam, one hand grasping the steel and the other poised and ready to attack.

“About time!” Christine yelled over the wind, her hair whipping around despite its short ponytail. Her lip was bleeding and her legs were bent, as if she were ready to dart away at a moment’s notice. “He’s- it’s not good Jeremy. I can’t get close to him. I can’t explain it, it’s like-”

 “Where is he?” Jeremy shouted.

 Christine shook her head. “Where _isn’t_ he?”

 “What?” Jeremy said, just as a minivan came hurtling towards them. Christine let herself fall twenty feet and Jeremy dove off the tower, sending a web out and swinging to catch a suspension cable with his body, holding himself up with his fingers and toes. The minivan collided with the bridge tower ten feet above him, instantly bursting into flame. The car windows exploded, and Jeremy ducked his head into his shoulder as glass rained down around him. Underneath them, people screamed as they raced towards either end of the bridge, desperate to see another day.

Christine appeared behind him, the white emergency lights of the bridge flickering against her face. Four hundred feet below her, the black water sparkled gold from the city’s lights. “I can’t find him. He just keeps throwing things.” 

“We should lure him out,” Jeremy said. Then, as if seized by God, he was pulled from the cable and thrown seventy feet to the ground.

The air in his lungs disappeared as his back collided with the pavement. His head snapped back and cracked against the concrete. Through the haze of pain, he wondered if he had lost his ability to climb walls, and if he had fallen.

He gingerly pressed his hand to where he hit his head, relieved to find there wasn’t any blood. But God wasn’t done with him, apparently, because his body was seized again and he was thrown face-first down the bridge’s road. He barely had time to raise his arms in defense before he struck a car, shattering the windshield and landing on the armrest, his legs sticking out the windshield.

Lying amidst the glass, Jeremy felt blood began to pour from his nose. He pressed the back of his hand to it through his suit, trying to gage if it was broken. Pain flashed through his skull, and his hand came away red.

He gasped as he tried to lift himself from the wreckage, every movement sending sheets of blinding pain through his ribs. He tried to climb out of the wreckage of the car, his bones creaking in response, but then his body was seized _again._ The force threw him back against the cable that he had been holding onto just moments before. Christine was still flying in place, her hands pressed against her mouth.  

“Oh my God, Jeremy, are you okay?” She asked. He was clinging to the cable once again, as if nothing had happened, except he now had a sudden doubt in his own abilities and a concussion to match.

The hair on the back of Jeremy’s neck raised, and he only had time to jump away from the pole and shout a quick warning to Christine before a thick cable from the bridge came snapping at them.  

Jeremy swung under the bridge to the lower level, landing hard on the concrete of the road and gasping as the world tilted around him. He stumbled as he ran through the abandoned cars, vision going blurry from the pain, then leapt out the other side. He twisted in the air and shot a web that connected to the eastern tower, swinging himself back onto the bridge’s upper deck.  

People were screaming, stumbling over broken car bits in their haste to get to land. Fires burned in cars around him, threatening to detonate with each passing moment.  

Jeremy crept through the lines of abandoned cars, waiting for the chill on his neck that would alert him to danger.  

“Come on!” he shouted above the sounds of panic, tilting his head up. The wreckage of the burning minivan flickered above him, stray bits of metal falling from the tower. “Show yourself!”  

All of a sudden, Jeremy was being lifted into the air. It was like using a web, except that both of his hands were still at his sides. His body was frozen, but his heart was racing as he was hurtled through the air like a ragdoll.  

He was thrown carelessly onto the edge of the western tower, a few dozen feet away from the burning car. He rolled, gasping, trying to reconcile the sudden jump and the agony flashing through his body as all of his bones were jostled at once, when he heard a voice.

“Spiderman!” the Squip called, his voice light. “So nice to finally meet you.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jeremy shouted, rolling into a raised crouch. “Let these people go!”

The Squip was levitating in midair. The world around him seemed wrong: no wind whipped at his hair, and his clothes remained still. “That’s up to you.”

 “What?”

“Come with me, and this all ends now.”

“Are you _kidding_ me?”

The Squip shook his head and motioned to the other side of the tower. Jeremy looked behind him, only to see Christine wrapped in the suspension cable that had snapped at them earlier. She was twisting and turning, desperately trying free herself. Hundreds of feet below her, the water looked like ink, ready to consume anything that touched it.

 _“NO!_ ” Jeremy moved to go to her, but felt his body constrict beyond his control once again. He was twisted back towards the Squip against his will. “Let- me- _go!”_  

“That cable is seven thousand pounds,” The Squip said, as if he were talking about the weather. “The only thing holding her up right now is me. If I let go, she plummets, and she doesn’t come back up.”  

“Don’t listen to him!” Christine pleaded. “There are _children_ on the bridge- _”_

“She will die,” The Squip said. “There is also a bomb on the bridge, set to detonate in four minutes. It will kill everybody here.”  

“Why are you _doing this?”_ Jeremy yelled. “Let them go! They did nothing wrong!”

“So brave, yet so _foolish,”_ the Squip growled. “Of course they’re wrong. They’re _weak._ They get sick, they get old. They infect each other and kill each other and destroy everything around them. I could _fix_ them, like I fixed you!”

“What do you mean, like you fixed me?” He was still stuck to the tower. He just needed time, to figure out a plan to delay the bomb and get Christine and everybody else on the bridge somewhere safe. “I don’t even _know_ you. _”_  

“Who do you think created the serum that made you who you are!” The Squip roared. “Reyes had _one job,_ to distribute the serum to the test subjects and report their results to _me.”_

“Reyes worked for you?”

“And _you destroyed him!”_ the Squip roared. “ _Decades_ of work, lost in an instant! Look at all those pathetic people, _Spiderman._ They are _pitiful._ They could have been so much more. They could have been like you and me.”

“I’m _nothing_ like you,” Jeremy spat, straining against the invisible ties.

The Squip raised an eyebrow. The left side of his mouth quirked into a smile. Jeremy felt the binds on his body drop and he fell to the ground, wheezing.

“So be it.”  

Behind him, Christine let out a bloodcurdling scream as the Squip let go and she plunged towards the Hudson. Without thinking, Jeremy yelled and dove headfirst off the bridge after her.  

With his left arm, he shot a web toward the falling mass of metal. With his other, he sent another web to the underside of the bridge. Just as his second web connected, the one that was holding the suspension cable went taut, yanking him down with the seven thousand pounds of weight.

Jeremy let out a strangled cry as the arm that was connecting them to the bridge was nearly wrenched out of its socket at the sudden weight. His throbbing ribs stretched with the effort of keeping them suspended. The wind bit at his skin through the spandex. His head was ringing. His Spiderman suit felt too tight. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

 _“You need to swing me back up to the bridge,”_ Christine shouted from thirty feet below him. _“Like a bucket on a string!”_

“You’ll die from the impact!” Jeremy yelled back. His shoulders strained and his lungs burned. They were going to die. They were going to die, and Jeremy would never see Michael again, and all he would leave him with was a stupid note that said he went to get breakfast, which he’d never come back with, and he’d stand Michael up for the rest of his life because Jeremy would be _dead_ -

When he made Michael promise not to die for him, he hadn’t realized that there was a chance that _Jeremy_ would die instead.

 _“Jeremy,”_ Christine screeched. “We are _going to die._ You need to swing me _right now.”_

“I _can’t-”_

 “You _can!_ ”

“Christine-” 

“ _Please,_ Jeremy.” One of the strands of Jeremy’s web snapped, causing both Jeremy and Christine to cry out at the sudden movement.

 “You could set off the bomb if I just throw you!”

“Either we die for _sure_ when the bomb goes off, or we _maybe_ die trying to do this!” Christine shrieked. “But you need to make a choice _now.”_  

Jeremy looked down at her, then up at the bottom of the bridge, where his web was straining under the weight. Slowly, he began moving his arm back and forth, gathering up momentum with Christine and watching the webbing above them to make sure it didn’t snap and send them hurtling to their watery graves. His ribs felt like they were splitting apart.   

“You need to let go when I say so,” Christine called up to him. “At the peak of the arch, so I go around the bridge instead of flying forward, okay?”  

Jeremy nodded, unable to speak, trying not to think of what would happen if they missed. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to catch her again.

Soon, Christine was swinging in a steep arc under the bridge. Jeremy’s shoulders were aching, his muscles burning. With every movement, he felt the web that was keeping them stable trembling under the pressure.

 _“Now!”_ Christine cried, and Jeremy let go. As soon as he did, the web holding _him_ up snapped, sending him plummeting towards the water.

He twisted onto his back mid-air and sent a line flying, latching on to the edge of the bridge and using his own momentum to swing himself in the same path as Christine. He landed on the bridge’s road moments before Christine and the mass of metal she was wrapped in did as well. The bridge shook with the impact of the cords hitting the road, but nothing exploded. A small victory.

Jeremy sprinted towards her, torn between crying from the relief that that had somehow, _somehow_ worked and praying to whoever would listen that she had survived the crash. She might be able to fly, but her neck was still human and a broken human neck meant a broken person.  

He knelt down in front of the mass of metal where her head was poking out. She was unconscious, and Jeremy swallowed dryly while his fingers pushed back her hair and searched her neck for a pulse.  

 _There,_ he thought, finding her faint heartbeat. _Now. Bomb._  

He stood up and closed his eyes, trying to tune out the chaotic screaming and howls of pain from the people around him. He reached out with his spider-senses across the bridge, desperate for a clue.  

The air smelled like acrid burning metal. His heart thudded in his ears. His hands were trembling. Red and blue lights danced through his eyelids . Sirens wailed, people screamed, and police shouted instructions through bullhorns. He sensed an unbearable wall of panic and fear and tried to push through it, but it didn’t budge. They were running out of time.

A chill went down the back of his neck as his senses pressed against the _Welcome to New Jersey_ sign. Jeremy opened his eyes and broke into a lilting sprint along the road. The New Jersey sign was a hundred feet away, then seventy, fifty, twenty-

And then he was face to face with a bomb. A blinking red clock was counting down underneath dozens of overlapping wires. Jeremy lifted his hands, then realized he had no idea how to disable a bomb.

He lifted his mask to breathe better. The thick smell of gasoline and and smoke filled his lungs. Jeremy felt his hair matting to his forehead from blood and sweat. He swiped at his nose and wiped the blood that came away on his leg.

The clock read thirty seconds. Jeremy wondered if throwing up on it would stop it or just detonate it early.

“The water.”

Jeremy looked over to see a young girl, no more than eight years old, standing three feet away from him. She was clutching a yellow blanket and had ash smudged all over her face. 

“You need to get off this bridge _right now,”_ Jeremy said, fighting the panic that was wrapped around his throat. The clock had seventeen seconds left on it. “Where are your parents? Oh, God, don’t answer that-” 

“Throw it in the water,” the girl repeated.

“I- what?”  

“The _water!”_

Ten seconds.

 Jeremy looked at the bomb, then at the girl, then across the Hudson. There were two boats to the North, but if he threw it far enough-

Six seconds.

 _“Now,_ Spiderman!” the girl cried.  

Jeremy webbed the bomb and flung it like a shotput across the Hudson. He and the little girl watched it soar.

It exploded a few hundred feet away from the bridge, its blaze lighting up the water brighter than the endless lights of the city itself. Despite the distance, Jeremy turned to shield the little girl from the heat. The fireball sunk into the Hudson, secondary explosions burning brightly even as it sank.

It was over.

Jeremy fell to his knees, the adrenaline leaving his body with his next breath. He turned to the girl, who was still gripping her blanket. She gave him a single, proud nod.

Behind him, the Squip laughed. A deep, ugly noise that bubbled up from his throat, and spoke as if he were taking notes. “Bravo. A worthy opponent. But unwilling to make… necessary sacrifices.” 

Jeremy whirled around, instinctively stepping in front of the little girl. “Please, _stop_ this.”

The Squip spread his arms. He was floating in the air again, and it was as if time was frozen around him. “Come with me, and all of this will end.”

“ _Never_.”

The Squip’s lips thinned. “Very well. You will regret this. We will meet again, Spiderman.”

 Jeremy opened his mouth to reply, but the Squip turned and disappeared into the night. Jeremy turned around, confused, and saw the little girl was still standing behind him.  

“He’s mean,” she muttered, lifting the blanket to her chin.  

Jeremy barked out an empty laugh. “Yeah, he is.”

 Just then, a woman came tearing down the road, scooping the little girl up and holding her tight against her chest, crying, “Oh, sweetheart, Lily, my angel, thank God you’re okay, oh God, oh thank God.”

 Jeremy pushed himself up, and the woman stopped fussing over her daughter to look at him. Her eyes widened upon seeing his face. Jeremy fought the blush that threatened his cheeks and he scrambled to pull the mask down again.

“You’re just a kid,” she said, her eyes wide and terrified. “I- I know you must hear this all the time but. Thank you so, so much.”

Jeremy ducked his head, waving his hand in some semblance of a thank-you. He nodded towards the girl, then webbed off back towards Christine, gritting his teeth when his bones shifted torturously in his body.

With shaking hands and an absurd number of webs, Jeremy managed to unwrap the suspension cord from around Christine’s body. He checked again for a pulse and, upon finding one, picked her up. He draped her arms around his neck and grabbed her waist before he webbed them back to Chloe’s car.

 

*           *          *

 

 

He crept into Michael’s basement just as the sun was rising, illuminating the basement in a quiet shade of pink through the small windows near the ceiling. Michael was still snoring on his bed. Everything was silent and still.

After bringing Christine to the car, Chloe had driven them the long way home to avoid any police. Jeremy had laid Christine out in the backseat and took the floor for himself, trying to get her to wake up. She had come to a few minutes after they left, and Chloe had given her a fond look in the rearview mirror and said, “‘Atta girl.”  

Chloe had given him an oversized t-shirt and some leggings and offered to take the Spiderman suit home for repairs. Her mother was a costume designer for Broadway and never asked questions after two glasses of wine. Jeremy had just nodded and asked Chloe to drop him off at Michael’s house instead.

Jeremy limped over to the bathroom and locked the door, examining himself in the mirror. His forehead and cheeks were covered in dirt and dried sweat, and blood soaked the lower half of his face. His nose was already swollen and turning a gross shade of purple and yellow, but it didn’t seem to be crooked, which he took as a good sign. He wasn’t sure if health insurance covered super villain attacks.

He lifted up the t-shirt that Chloe had lent him and gritted his teeth at the sight. His chest was covered in angry bruises and red scabs. He pressed his fingers lightly against his ribs, and hissed in pain.

He undressed. His knees were scraped and bloody, the cotton from the leggings sticking to the blood and peeling away some of the newer scabs. His head was still pounding, pain pressing against his skull. Sighing, he turned and started the shower.

He gingerly washed off the grime and scrubbed the smell of smoke out of his skin and hair. It hurt to lift his arms, but limb by limb he managed to wash away the grunge. He shut the water off, watching the water run red and black as it drained. Jeremy leaned his forehead against the cool tile, breathing hard from the effort of standing up and trying to fight the waves of dizziness that washed over him. He clenched his jaw and stepped out of the shower. 

He checked underneath the sink for anything he could use to patch himself up, and came up with half a roll of Ace bandaging and some Advil. Carefully, he wrapped the bandage around his ribs, trying to swallow the gasps of pain as the material pressed against the bruising. After he managed to tie it off, he took four of the pills and got dressed, foregoing Chloe's leggings in favor of just his boxers.

Toweling off his hair, Jeremy limped towards the bed, careful to avoid stepping on any part of the mess from the night before. Michael was still asleep, though he had shifted in his sleep. He was now on his stomach, head resting on his arm and his mouth slightly open. His hair was down, no longer gelled, instead falling into his eyes and sticking up in the back. His glasses were askew and the morning sunlight fell across his head like a crown.

Jeremy’s heart ached. He didn’t want to lie to him anymore. He didn’t even know what to tell Michael when he woke up, because it was clear that Jeremy hadn’t spent the night in the basement. He hurt so badly and didn’t want anything else but to have Michael know, to tell him everything and explain what it was like to soar through the air, to climb on a skyscraper, to feel the content ache in his muscles that only came after a battle hard-won.

Then, he thought of the Squip, and how close Jeremy had come to dying just an hour ago, and how Jeremy could never live up to the expectation of Spiderman that Michael had built up in his mind, and he deflated. Michael couldn’t know. He could never know. 

He sighed and gently eased Michael’s glasses off his face, placing them on the bedside table next to the sticky note that Jeremy had left a few hours earlier. He picked up the post-it and crumpled it. His body felt heavy. He wanted to sleep for approximately ten years before even thinking of confronting reality again.

Resigned, Jeremy climbed carefully over Michael, (and if he spider-crawled on the wall to get around him without waking him up, well, then, nobody was the wiser), and lowered himself onto the other half of the bed. He sank into the covers and nearly groaned with how good the gentle cotton felt against his clean skin. It almost made up for the pain that blazed through his chest as he lowered himself down.

Michael shifted, turning his head and blinking in the morning sunlight as he tried to focus on Jeremy.

“Jer?” Michael murmured, more than half asleep, his voice rough from disuse. “Y’good?"

Jeremy looked at him, so close he could count his eyelashes. Michael’s face was soft with sleep and his eyes were unfocused, not yet seeing the bruises that scattered Jeremy’s face. Jeremy ached to move closer and curl himself against Michael’s chest and stay there forever, but settled instead for studying his face and memorizing the freckles that spotted Michael’s brown skin.

“Couldn’t sleep on the floor,” Jeremy whispered, burying his face in the curve of his arm so Michael wouldn’t see his wounds. “Too cold.”

“Mm,” Michael hummed, then rolled over so he was curled towards Jeremy, and closed his eyes again.

He had to tell Michael something, eventually. But for now, Jeremy let his eyelids drop. He shifted himself towards the warmth of his best friend, and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some notes: 
> 
> -this has the longest action scene i've ever written! woo!  
> -subway soup or hero = subway superhero (read it out loud lmao if u didnt get it haha it's just me trying to be funny)  
> -the gw bridge toll is actually 15 dollars. that's not an exaggeration  
> -i had to google diagrams of a bridge in order to name exactly what jeremy was webbing to haha.  
> -i have no idea how much a suspension cable weighs and google didn't help. so. just for some clarity: the gw bridge has an upper level, which is like a normal bridge, and a lower level, which is another road but semi-indoors except u can see the river on the sides. [picture](http://www.aaroads.com/northeast/new_york095/i-095_sb_exit_000_01.jpg)  
> \- in nj, there's also a curved highway that leads you to the bridge if ur coming from the northern side, which they are. [here's a picture](http://www.gettyimages.com/event/gov-chris-christie-addresses-the-fort-lee-george-washington-bridge-scandal-461900377?esource=SEO_GIS_CDN_Redirect#the-new-jersey-side-of-the-george-washington-bridge-which-connects-picture-id461562663)  
> -comments/kudos are always appreciated!!! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what they say, "you dont wanna overload them with too much exposition!". you know what they also say? "rules were meant to be broken". (i promise it's not actually all exposition there is some #Good #boyf #riends #content in this chapter) (also if u caught that urinetown reference pls lmk i live for that musical)

Jeremy woke up to dull agony radiating through his body and he held back a groan as he opened his eyes, but didn’t move. His chest felt like it had been hit with a small truck, but it was a small improvement from last night. He pressed a hand to his nose and got a slight twinge of pain in response, but could still feel the bruising across his inner cheekbones. The Ace bandaging was tight against his skin and the painkillers had worn off, leaving Jeremy dizzy with pain.

Everything in the basement was overwhelming, from the light of Michael's lava lamps that bathed the ceiling in slow reds and blues, to the flickering light of his plasma ball against the Bob Marley and Weezer posters taped to the wall, to the constant clicking of the controller and the rustling of the bean bag as Michael leaned in time with his character on screen. There were pillows shoved into the small windows, bits of sunlight sneaking through the edges and catching dust in the beams. His senses absorbed each of these sensations and they settled on his skin like saran wrap. Jeremy focused on the assortment of glow-in-the-dark stars that Michael had stuck to his ceiling in his own constellations over the years- a smiley face, a small weed plant, his and Jeremy’s initials- and tried to breathe.

He was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep until he healed completely, but then realized the bed was empty. Jeremy froze, ice running through his veins as he wondered if Michael had seen him and left. He knew he deserved it, but his heart still jumped to his throat and stayed there until he realized it had to be Michael playing the game three feet away from him. He relaxed, but his chest still felt tight.

He thought back to last night and what the Squip had told him while he fought against the dizziness. Reyes had been working for him and actually _had_ caused all of their powers, so it was possible that the Squip knew who Jeremy was. The Squip had also said that he was unwilling to make 'necessary sacrifices', which he didn't understand. Did he think that Jeremy was just going to let those people die? Was it because of Christine? Or because Jeremy had refused to go along with whatever gross plan the Squip had in store for him? It was a shitty origin story, regardless. What kind of superhero had their roots in the villain they were trying to stop?

When the world stopped spinning around him, Jeremy pushed his questions aside and willed himself to sit up and lift his legs over the side of the bed, keeping his breathing shallow so as not to disturb his ribs. Michael was sitting on the floor with his back turned.

“What time is it?”

Michael didn’t pause the game, but his shoulders tensed as he recognized Jeremy’s voice. “Two thirty.”

 “In the afternoon?”  

“Yeah.”

He waited for a snarky comment on his laziness, but Michael remained stiff and quiet. Jeremy rubbed his wrists, trying to figure out what to say that wouldn’t end in disaster.

“Do you wanna play multi?”  

Michael paused the game and turned around. “So, just to be clear, we’re _not_ gonna talk about what happened last night? That’s fine with me. I just want to clarify, since, y’know, I don’t seem to be worth keeping in the know anymore.”

“Michael... ”

Michael’s voice shook and he looked nervous, as if he had been preparing a speech he didn’t want to give. “Listen, if you don’t want to hang out with me, that’s fine-”

_“Michael-”_

“But at least _tell_ me instead of _sneaking out_ in the middle of the night! And then coming back looking like _that,_ ” He gestured to Jeremy’s face, then said, “Just. If you don’t want to be friends anymore, then tell me. I deserve-”  

“Not be… _friends anymore_ ? Michael, _what?_ I literally _slept in your bed_ last night.”

Michael barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I asked you if you were good! You are not good!” He motioned to Jeremy’s face, which was still bruised and scraped. “Obviously!”  

Jeremy was silent.

“Are you… _seeing_ someone?” Michael got up on his knees, anger and fear flashing across his face. “Because if you are, and _they’re_ doing this to you, I swear to God-”

“No!” Jeremy exclaimed. “No, Michael, _God,_ no. I promise. It’s nothing like that.”

“Well what do you want me to think!” Michael sank back down. His shoulders slumped. “You won’t _tell_ me anything, Jer. You just. I mean, just _look_ at yourself.”

Jeremy wrapped his arms around his stomach and tried to figure out what to say, but came up empty. Michael couldn’t even see the rest of his body and he already looked like he was about to cry.

 “What should I think? You climb into my bed at five in the fucking morning, which is like, great! Awesome! Guess we’re doing this now! But then I wake up and see your face smashed in and a bloody towel on the ground and- and-,” Michael ran a hand through his hair and gestured at Jeremy vaguely. Jeremy didn’t say a word.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. Whatever,” Michael muttered, the fight going out of him all at once. He nudged his glasses back up his nose and the lava lamp light slid across his face, reflecting in his lenses. Neither of them spoke.

Jeremy’s face felt heavy. He wanted to bury his face in Michael’s shoulder and cry and confess everything. Out loud, after a long moment, he said, “I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because your face says something else entirely. No offense, dude, but you look like shit,” he snorted, but there was no humor to it. “Even more so than usual.”  

“It’s not just my face,” Jeremy said quietly. Michael didn’t answer. Then, before he thought it through, “I am like, thirty-nine percent okay.”

“The hell you mean-?” Michael asked. “Jeremy, what the fuck.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Oh, great, well fuck you too, Jer-” Michael began. Jeremy cut him off.

 “But. There’s- this.” His eyes fell to the ground, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. He was selfish. He wanted Michael’s concern and comfort and care, wanted him to understand without _knowing_. Wanted his trust despite deserving none of it. 

His chest ached from Michael’s anger and hurt and disappointment. He wanted to prevent Michael’s pain, and ended up being the cause of it instead. Bile rose in his throat and self-loathing settled in his stomach.

Gritting his teeth, Jeremy lifted up his shirt.

 Michael inhaled sharply, and Jeremy felt the bed dip as Michael appeared next to him with his next heartbeat. “Christ, Jeremy…”

Deep purple bruises reached out from under the bandaging, the skin around it highlighted with angry reds and sallow yellows. There were several scabbing cuts, some of which had reopened overnight, the freshly dried blood accenting his battered skin.

Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut, not trusting himself to speak. He felt Michael’s fingers brush against his ribs, feather-light at the edge where the Ace bandaging met his skin. Jeremy’s heart jumped to his throat as Michael’s hands gently dragged against his torso. It didn’t hurt as much as last night, but Jeremy still hissed in pain at the contact, opening his eyes and scanning Michael’s frightened features.

Michael yanked his hands away as if they had been burned, his eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“No, it’s okay,” Jeremy mumbled, dropping his shirt. “You deserve to see it.”

“What the fuck is going _on,_ Jer?” Michael’s mouth was curved down, wrinkles creasing between his eyebrows. “Who did this to you?”

Jeremy took a shaky breath and spoke around the lump in his throat. “I can’t- I _can’t,_ Michael. I will, I swear. Just. Not yet, okay?”

Michael sat back on the bed, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You won’t like, die before you do, right?”

Jeremy looked at him, thinking of last night, when he had been so sure his web would snap and send both him and Christine to the floor of the Hudson. “‘Course not. You won’t die when you take those dumb pictures, and I won’t die from this, okay?”

 “Okay,” Michael said softly. “Yeah. Okay.”

“For now,” Jeremy forced his voice to a lighter tone. “Um. Apocalypse of the Damned?”

Michael stared at him, searching his face. Jeremy didn’t move, just let Michael’s eyes flicker from his injured nose to the t-shirt that covered his bruised ribs to his hair and back to his eyes. Finally, Michael’s face softened and he nodded.

Jeremy bit back the flood of relief as eased himself off the bed and joined Michael on the floor, who was plugging in another controller. He didn’t deserve relief, not when the Squip was still out there and Michael was still upset with him. The conversation wasn’t over, but at least he had bought himself some time. Enough to maybe sort out the Squip and figure out a way to tell Michael without the inevitable result of him getting killed or being permanently disappointed in Jeremy.

But it was a start. As long as he was able to come back and be Player Two for Michael, he could keep it all up. He could be Spiderman for everybody else.

He just needed to say it enough. Then maybe he’d believe it, too.

 

*           *           *

 

Jeremy’s dad was wearing Tweety Bird underwear and a Pearl Jam t-shirt as he stood over the stove. He was humming along to Yellow Submarine, swaying his hips back and forth and using the wooden spoon as a microphone when Jeremy walked into the kitchen.

Jeremy wrinkled his nose and averted his eyes. “Dad, come _on.”_

“I know, I know, it’s taking longer than expected, but dinner will be ready in just a minute, Private,” his dad said, then held out the spoon towards his son as the Beatles wailed on. “Take it away!”

“Brooke’s here,” Jeremy mumbled, pushing aside the spoon. “Can you _please…_ get decent?”

“That’s not the lyric,” his dad chided “And why didn’t you tell me a girl was coming over? I would have made more chicken! And stir-fry!”  

“Aren’t you just glad that she’s coming over at all?”

His dad’s eyes lit up, then wrinkled in concern. “Oh, you reminded me! You’ve been keeping weird hours, Sport. Everything okay in that world of yours?”

Jeremy looked up, half-tempted to tell him everything. He didn’t think his dad would care if he did, that is, if he believed him at all. He blinked at his dad, who had his hand with the spoon on his hip in his cartoon character underwear and bits of chicken in his beard, and wondered how this was the same man that used to test him on words from his case studies when he brought Jeremy to work with him.

He wanted him to care and wondered if telling him would _make_ him. He wondered if he would bother enough to even ask for the truth, wondered if he would yell at him for being stupid if he told him. He didn’t think so. His dad was a good person, but not a good parent. Jeremy knew he tried his best, but every effort was weak and unsure.  

“Everything’s fine,” Jeremy said. He almost felt bad for lying, and decided he would test out the truth, for once, if his dad offered that branch. It was so easy, too, just a single mention about his nose, or his bent posture, or even the stupid fuzzy socks he had put on to cushion his footsteps on the wooden floor so his ribs wouldn’t jostle from the impact of his feet on the ground.  

Instead, his dad pursed his lips and said, “Okay. I trust you, son. Just… tell me. Is it drugs?”

 Jeremy deflated, all thoughts of confessing leaving him, and moved to leave the room. “No, Dad. It’s not drugs.”

“Don’t mock me!” His dad called. “Drugs are a serious problem these days, especially with you young people!”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, but was already out of the room. He opened the door to see Brooke waiting on the porch, her backpack slung over one shoulder and a chemistry textbook in her arm.

“Hey!” she said, brightening when she saw him. He motioned her inside, and she follow him in, speaking rapidly. “First of all, I am so sorry about Saturday! My phone was on silent because I had to take the SATs then, but I totally would have come if I had known it was gonna be that bad-”

 _"Shh,”_ Jeremy whispered, then gestured to the kitchen. “My dad’s making dinner.”

“Oh!” she mouthed, and nodded quickly, pressing her forefinger and thumb together in an _understood!_ motion.

Jeremy peered into the kitchen. His dad was still grooving away, putting more effort into his singing than the dinner, which was beginning to smell like smoke. Jeremy nodded at Brooke, and they made their way upstairs.

In Jeremy’s room, Brooke plopped herself down at Jeremy’s desk chair, opening her textbook and continuing exactly where she left off. “Okay, where was I? Second of all, I am going to teach you chemistry if it’s the last thing I do because the last thing _you_ need is a failing grade and nobody deserves to have to repeat junior year, especially not after _saving_ New York! And New Jersey!”

She flipped through the pages, rattling on. “Thirdly, Chloe filled me in on what happened, and Jesus _Christ,_ Jeremy are you okay? Your nose looks better than she was saying, but I’m guessing that’s the spider-healing or whatever? How are your ribs? Do you need painkillers?” She lowered her voice and stopped flipping through the pages, staring intently at Jeremy. “Don’t tell anyone, but I can totally get you morphine if you need it.”

Jeremy ran his hands down his face, settling himself on his bed and leaning against the wall. “I’m okay, Brooke, seriously, don’t worry about it."

“You sure?” She was frowning, her eyebrows knitted, trying to figure out if he was lying.

“I promise,” he said earnestly. Her expression didn’t change, so he added, “Except for the chemistry part. I can’t believe I’m gonna be the first person who is actually going to die from stoichiometry.”

Brooke smirked as she opened up her pencil case. “Bombs you can handle, but stoich? Oh, have _mercy_!”

Jeremy snorted. “Not the _mole ratio!”_

“Avogadro’s number?”  She mimicked a Southern accent and daintily laid a hand on her forehead. “Anythin’ but!”

“Teach me, O Wise One,” Jeremy pleaded, holding his notebook up like an offering. “Please, to save us all! The world depends on it!”

 Brooke laughed, then went quiet. “If only saving the world was that easy.” 

Jeremy let his notebook fall back onto his lap. “Tell me about it.”

“Chloe said she dropped you off at Michael’s, right?” Brooke asked. Jeremy nodded once, his eyes falling to the ground. He fiddled with his bed comforter. “How’d that go?”

“‘Bout as well as you’d expect,” he muttered. He picked at a stray thread and didn’t meet her eye. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Brooke.”

“Jeremy, don’t say that,” she tapped her pencil on the table. “You could always tell him?’

“Yeah, and simultaneously destroy that image of Spiderman he has in his head and have him get kidnapped or killed? Because of me?” His eyes flickered up to meet hers. “No, thanks.”

“He can protect himself, you know. And when he can’t, well, he has all of us? I know everyone would rather die than have him get hurt.”

“We can’t be with him all the time!” Jeremy said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “He’s- I mean. On Saturday, with the Squip? I was so scared I was going to die. I was hanging off that bridge and my ribs felt like they were going to slice through my body and I could barely hold onto Christine and it was cold and the Squip was just so much stronger than I was and kept making sure I knew it. He had covered every plan! He had a _bomb._ People were going to die and there was nothing I could do!”

“You still won, Jeremy.”

“I didn’t win! He got away! He could come back at any minute! He _said_ he’d come back. I mean, _Reyes_ was working for him. He could be anywhere! He could know who we are and expose us to the world at any time, because _I couldn’t beat him.”_

“You made it out alive,” Brooke said firmly. “That’s a win. Think about it. How many high school juniors do you know who could survive a _week_ of this? The fact that we’ve made it this far, and helped _this_ many people is a miracle.”

“None of that matters if I can't save _him_! _”_ Jeremy fell against his bed, staring at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ. He’s going to die. And it’s gonna be my fault.”

“Michael's not going to die.”

“You don’t know that! I can’t do everything! There’s gonna be a time when I _can’t_ save everyone, and he’s gonna die. I’m trying so hard and it just feels like-” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “I- He’s. He’s my best friend, Brooke. He was my _only_ friend. Did you know that? He was literally the only person I had for like, most of my life. And I keep having to leave him _alone_ so _I_ can go and get myself nearly killed. And now he hates me and I’m probably going to die soon and then _he’s_ probably going to _watch_ me die while taking pictures and not _realize_ it’s me until it’s too late-”

“Jeremy-” 

“And I’m going to fail chemistry because I don’t know how to do stoichiometry and-”

 _“Jeremy-”_  

“And the Squip is gonna take over the world and-”

 _“Shut up!_ ” Brooke shouted, and if Jeremy didn’t know any better he would have thought she’d Toxic Talked him into closing his mouth. “Okay. Here’s what you can do. You can keep complaining about things you can’t do anything about. And maybe all that happens, but maybe it doesn’t.”

“Great advice,” Jeremy mumbled.

“ _Or,”_ Brooke said, barreling on. “You can start with what you _can_ change. I don’t know everything, but I do happen to know how to do stoich, and I am more than willing to teach you so you _won’t_ fail chem. Do you want to start there?”  

Jeremy sat up and held a pillow in his lap. He nodded. 

“Okay. Good. Now,” She turned around to face her textbook. “Here’s what you need to do.”

Jeremy liked Brooke, but their relationship was pretty much strictly tied to chemistry tutoring and saving the world. That was, for the most part, what it was like with the rest of them, too. Jeremy clung to them because he didn’t want to be alone again, but often felt like none of them had anything in common except for the jungle juice fiasco. Everyone else had been friends before the cast party, so Jeremy often felt like he was outside of one big inner joke that they all understood but him. Even Christine had her choir friends, who she sometimes ate lunch with instead of them.

Brooke was no exception. She tried her best to comfort Jeremy, but she didn’t like to consider the downside to things. She focused on the positive, which was easy because she was small and blonde and smart and popular, and believed that her problems would disappear if she just ignored them. Jeremy couldn’t blame her, because it tended to work most of the time. Even when it didn’t, she and Chloe could talk anybody out of or into anything, and things almost always worked out for her as a result.

Jeremy wasn’t so lucky. He was stuck with bad skin from sweating in his mask so often, an anxiety problem from always having to be wary of everybody around him, and an inability to force himself to study after a hard battle. It never felt quite real, coming back from disabling a bomb or toppling a blue giant and having to do homework or walk through the halls of Middleborough, as if he hadn’t almost died twenty minutes earlier. It felt pointless, especially when he was probably going to have to repeat junior year anyway. He still only had one friend who he could talk to without worrying about keeping up the conversation, and even Michael was beginning to resent him despite all of Jeremy’s efforts.

Still, there wasn’t anything Jeremy could do except let Brooke try and teach him how to balance products and reactants, and hope she wasn’t just doing it out of pity.

Two hours later, as Brooke was leaving and after Jeremy had (mostly) figured out how to do stoichiometry, she turned and gave him a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, careful not to press too hard against his still-healing ribs.

When she pulled away, Jeremy asked, “What was that for?”

“You needed it,” she said, and gave him a sad smile. “You have to remember that you’re doing more than anybody could ask from you. And it’s not for nothing.”

“I guess.”

“No, it’s _true_. So many people are allowed to live their lives because of you. Isn’t that the whole point of this? So people can live normally, without constantly being in fear? _You_ did that. You’re letting them do that. Also, can I say one more thing?” 

“What?” 

“Michael could never hate you. He doesn’t know how. He’s just scared because he loves you.” She unlocked her car and stepped off the porch, ducking into the rain. She called over her shoulder, “Bye, Jeremy! See you in chem!”

She sped off in her yellow Beetle, leaving Jeremy alone in his doorway, wondering when everything got so messy and how he could even begin to clean it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -lol the description of michael's room is purely just me and @debusya.tumblr.com head-canoning at 2am.  
> -jeremy is such an #unreliablenarrator bc he's so blind to how other people feel about him!! someone give this boy a hug i s2g  
> -if u wanna see what jeremy's ribs look like google it. it's not pretty.  
> -brooke def drives a yellow beetle and it has those fake eyelashes on the headlights. u know what im talking about.  
> -pls comment it keeps me young<33


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was also eleven pages! woo! shoutout to debi @debusya.tumblr.com for editing this into shape and also for sitting with me outside of a coffee shop yesterday so i could tell her my whole life plan instead of writing this chapter!!!

It was a warm Thursday afternoon in Midtown, and all hell was breaking loose.

The Scream was _loud._ A sound like a jet engine blowing into a dog whistle filled the air whenever the Scream raised her arms.  Every time she opened her mouth, buildings shook and glass rained down onto the street as windows shattered from the force of noise.

Jeremy stood next to Chloe and Brooke in the center of 50th street, trying not to wince from the sound. The two girls were dressed in green and pink neon leggings and white athletic shirts and shoes, with neon sports bras that matched the opposing girl’s leggings. Jeremy hated their costumes, he felt it made them a bright bullseye, but every time he told them so they just mocked him for his Spidey suit until he shut up. At least they didn’t have capes anymore.

They had gotten the text that the Scream was attacking just as school let out. Chloe had driven them to the bridge and Jeremy webbed them all across, and they had landed on the street just as the Scream sent a police car flying into a Wells Fargo. There was trash and shattered glass littered across the street. Empty baby strollers and full garbage bags moved on their own accord, controlled by the sound waves and the Scream’s incessant bellowing.

Every single car within a two-block radius had its alarm blaring and the metal scraping, adding to the noise. Glass kept shattering and weaker buildings cracked under the force of the sound waves.

Cop cars were no exception. There were around thirty of them, blocking off the street, but the police had all abandoned the vehicles in favor of crouching behind their riot shields. One of them had a bullhorn, but Jeremy couldn’t hear what the officer was shouting over the din. 

All the way down 7th Ave, Jeremy could see the masses of people congregating in Times Square. Tourists had their cell phones out behind the police barricades, standing through the sound to document yet another New York City superhero battle.

Around them, hundreds of people ran in an attempt to get away, but their screams were lost amidst the shrieking of the air. The Scream walked slowly closer to them, the air around her buzzing with the force of the sound waves that she controlled.

Jeremy turned towards the Toxic Talkers and yelled over the noise. “Can’t you tell her to stop?”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” Chloe snapped, bending her knees in preparation as the Scream approached. Her voice sounded choppy, as if she was speaking into an electric fan.

Brooke, who was standing next to Jeremy in their tri-formation, leaned closer to his ear and still had to yell to be heard. Her voice matched Chloe’s: it seemed to vibrate so she didn’t sound quite like herself.  “We can’t do anything unless they can hear us! And we have to speak normally so our voices are the same pitch- it won’t work otherwise.”

The Scream got louder. Jeremy placed his hands over his ears, trying to block out enough of the roar to think. The Scream just raised her arms and seemed to relish in the mess of noise, coming to a stop ten feet away from them.

Then, silence. Jeremy slowly lowered his hands away from his ears, not trusting her to stay where she was.

“Spiderman! Toxic Talkers!” the Scream shouted, except her voice was amplified so it echoed through the city streets. “Don’t make me kill you! The Squip wants you _alive._  

Jeremy froze. Her voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he knew it from. The Scream was dressed in all black down to her shoes, except for a bright blue choker and orange socks.

“Have you been working for the Squip _this whole time?_ ”

“Yeah, what the hell!” Brooke shouted. “He’s a _dick_!”

“He’s paying for college,” the Scream spat. Jeremy thought of Michael and wondered who else was going to do something stupid just to pay tuition. “Join us! All these people- they’re losers! They aren’t like us! We can be so much better!”

“I already said no!” Jeremy shouted. “Please stop trying to kill us!”

“I didn’t ask you, _Spiderman,”_ the Scream snarled, then looked at Chloe and Brooke. “Toxics. I do a fair bit of talking myself. Come with us.”

Jeremy couldn’t figure out the voice, and it was driving him crazy. She didn’t look familiar, but her costume covered most of her body anyway.

 _“Jenna Rolan_ is the Scream?” Chloe hissed, naming her. Jeremy’s eyes went wide and Chloe turned to Brooke, pissed. “What the _fuck!”_  

Brooke put her hands on her hips and faced the villain. _“Jenna Rolan?”_

The Scream’s eyes widened and she frowned. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“I thought you had Mono!” Chloe called, ignoring her question.

“Mono?” The Scream- Jenna- rolled her eyes. “That’s the problem with being the school gossip. When you’re gone, everybody else gets things _wrong._ ”

She pushed her arms forward again, sending a sonic boom that forced the trio to the ground. Jeremy gritted his teeth and stood up, brushing shards of glass off his knees.

 _“Come with us, or die!”_ Jenna screamed.

“Um, no thank you!” Chloe said. Brooke nodded, stepping up next to her.

 “He’ll give you anything you want,” Jenna replied, her eyes flickering between the two girls. “Anything at all!”

“Anything?” Brooke repeated, pausing and looking at Chloe. Chloe looked back at her, and they seemed to have a conversation with their eyes that Jeremy couldn’t understand.

“Guys, you can’t be-?” he started. His heart was racing. They couldn’t _actually_ be considering joining her, could they?

 _“Shut up!”_ The two girls hissed in unison. Immediately, Jeremy closed his mouth. 

Brooke and Chloe turned to face Jenna. Jeremy’s heart was in his throat. He wasn’t sure if his inability to speak came from being Toxic Talked or because he was so afraid of what they were going to say.

“Yeah, we’ll go with you,” Chloe said, stepping forward and standing up straight.

Brooke stepped in line with her, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. “In your _dreams!”_

Then, the two girls leaned forward and said together, _“Now go away!”_

Jenna froze. Jeremy’s heart pounded in his chest as his eyes darted between the two sets of girls. Brooke and Chloe looked determined, their eyes narrowed beneath their masks. Nobody had ever been able to resist being Toxic Talked.

Except Jenna wasn’t going away. She just stood there, completely still, as if they had suggested she freeze instead.

Then, Jenna started laughing.

It started quietly, just her shoulders shaking and a soft giggle. Soon enough, the noise was booming through the streets. More car alarms went off and older buildings shook. Brooke, Jeremy, and Chloe all looked at each other, stunned.  

“You think that works on me?” Jenna laughed maniacally. “You think he didn’t teach me otherwise? _Ha!_ You’re no better than these stupid _people!”_

“Why didn’t it work?” Jeremy hissed, stepping back as Jenna stepped closer. She was raising her arms again, the air already thrumming with impatient sound waves. His own voice bubbled as the sound around him started obeying different rules.

“I don’t fucking know!” Chloe said, dazed. “That’s never _happened_ before!”

“If she won’t listen to us-” Brooke said, almost to herself. She looked at Jeremy wide-eyed. “We’re useless. We can’t do anything. Meaning-”

“I’m on my _own?”_ Jeremy caught on, bones going weak with fear. Jenna was fast approaching, the air getting louder around them. There was no way he could get anywhere near her without his brain melting through his eye sockets. _“What?”_

 “We tried! Can’t win ‘em all!” Chloe shouted. _“Now get us out of here!”_

 Jenna started screaming at them again. Her shriek dented cars with the force of its sound waves. The girls winced and clamped their hands over their ears. Jeremy felt a headache start to form behind his eyes. 

Jenna yelled impossibly louder. A fire hydrant came hurling towards them and Jeremy moved on instinct, webbing it and using its own momentum to send it flying in another direction. It crashed through the window of a Starbucks, glass imploding inwards. Jeremy hoped the building had been empty.

Water sprayed violently from the fire hydrant hole in the ground, leaving the three of them soaked. Jeremy didn’t know it was so hard to breathe through wet spandex. He blinked away the drops of water and wished he could flip his hair out of his eyes.

“He wants you alive,” Jenna screeched. Bystanders fell to their knees with the force of the noise and resorted to crawling away while they tried to block out the sounds. “But I think you’re _worthless!”_

Jenna took a deep breath, ready to strike again, but Jeremy didn’t stick around to see what would happen next.

He webbed Chloe and Brooke together, only slightly glad he wasn’t able to hear their complaints at being glued back-to-back, and grabbed them with one arm while he used his other to send a web and swing above Jenna and up two blocks.

He put them down on the sidewalk of 52nd street. The soundwaves here were more forgiving, but Jeremy didn’t know how long he had until Jenna found them. The girls unwrapped the web, grumbling, and untangled themselves from each other. The noise was getting steadily louder, and Jeremy’s neck went cold as Jenna got closer.

“You guys need to leave right now,” Jeremy said. “If you can’t help, you can’t be in the way.”

“Yes, we know,” Brooke said, hugging Jeremy after she cleared the webbing off her green leggings. “Be careful, okay?”

“We’ll meet you at home,” Chloe said, her eyes falling on something behind him. “Oh, God, wait-”

Confused, Jeremy turned around.

And came face to face with Michael Mell.

He was holding a red slushie, which he promptly dropped on the ground. Jeremy didn’t even process the icy mess that splattered all over his legs. He just stared at Michael, thankful his costume didn’t betray his expression.

Michael’s mouth was red and slick from the drink he had just dropped, his lips slightly parted in surprise. His hair was blowing in the wind and a camera was draped around his neck, resting loosely on his chest. The late afternoon sunlight lit up Michael’s skin, and Jeremy’s brain short-circuited as he tried to figure out what to do.

Wordlessly, Michael lifted the camera and snapped a picture. The flash sent Jeremy into panic mode.  

He whipped around to face Brooke and Chloe, who didn’t have the luxury of a full-face mask to hide their shock. 

 _"Go,”_ he hissed, hopefully so Michael didn’t hear. They each gave a quick nod, then turned and ran, probably to find the nearest bodega so they could change and get to their car unrecognized.

The noise was almost as loud as it was before. Michael didn’t even seem to process it, he just gaped at Jeremy and stayed rooted to the ground.

Jeremy stepped in towards Michael, raising his voice and hoping Jenna’s powers still made his voice sound like he was speaking through a fan. “You need to leave _right now.”_

Michael, however, just stared right through Jeremy’s mask and said, “I love you.”

Jeremy’s heart skipped a beat. Michael’s face was raw and open, and Jeremy could _almost_ believe-

He didn’t let that thought continue. Instead, he grabbed Michael’s shoulders and spoke into his ear, _“You need to go.”_

This time, when he pulled away, Michael was bright red. His best friend opened his mouth to say something, but it was right then that Jenna found them.

 _“There_ you are, Spiderman!” She roared. “What, your friends couldn’t _face the music?”_

Jenna raised her arms. The windows of the shops around them imploded outwards. Jeremy lunged towards Michael, trying to shield him from the glass. He wrapped his arm around Michael’s waist and sent out a web that sent them flying _up._

He landed on the wall of an apartment building, three of his limbs clutching the wall, his free hand holding Michael.  

“ _This isn’t real,_ ” Michael yelled, gripping Jeremy like his life depended on it. Which, Jeremy supposed, it did. They were forty feet off the ground. Jeremy didn’t know if Michael would survive if he dropped him.

“Climb onto my back,” Jeremy shouted. His voice still sounded wobbly, which was the only thing preventing Michael from recognizing who he was.

  _“What.”_

“Like a piggy back, c’mon, Micha-” Jeremy caught himself, cleared his throat, and shouted, _“-Man.”_

Jenna screamed at them from the ground. She pushed her hands toward them, and a wall of sound hit them as if it had been physical. Jeremy was knocked against the wall, his toes almost sliding out beneath him. Jeremy looked up to see the scaffolding cracking. If Michael didn’t climb onto Jeremy’s back, they were both going to fall to their deaths along with half the building.

“You got this!” Jeremy called. Michael looked up at him, his face paler than Jeremy had ever seen it, and nodded.

Very slowly, Michael eased himself from clutching onto Jeremy’s stomach in his one-handed grip to climbing onto his back. He wrapped his arms around his neck, and Jeremy could feel Michael’s body trembling as it pressed against his own. Michael’s camera pressed into the small of Jeremy’s back, but now Jeremy could use his other hand.

Jenna let out another roar, and the building creaked as the stone split. Jeremy twisted his head and shouted, “Are you good, man? Because we have to go _right now.”_

Michael nodded against Jeremy’s neck, and Jeremy sent out a web to another building just as the one they were on collapsed into the street.

If all Jenna Rolan wanted was a hero, then all he had to do was make sure she didn’t get one.

He swung over Jenna once again and shot a web at her for good measure, pinning her to the ground. It wouldn’t last; she’d be able to sound-blast her way out of it before any police arrived, but it gave Jeremy enough time to sling him and Michael a dozen blocks away.

As he was slinging webs, Jeremy lowered his voice and tried to make himself seem as dissimilar to himself as he could. “Where do you live?”

“New Jersey,” Michael said, muffled from the fact his head was buried in Jeremy’s neck. Jeremy felt his breath warm against his skin through the suit and tried not to think too deeply about the way his skin tingled in response.

“Got it,” Jeremy replied, and swung Michael home.

 

 

*            *           *

 

The route to Michael’s house was as familiar to Jeremy as the route to his own, so it wasn’t until they landed on the roof of Michael’s house that Jeremy realized Spiderman wasn’t supposed to know Michael at all.

 “I know you’re literally perfect and the savior of the world and all, but for future reference I am _ghastly_ afraid of heights,” Michael said, sliding off Jeremy’s back and shakily taking a seat on the roof. He leaned against the wall of the house, his knuckles white from pressing on the shingles for support. “Also, how did you know where I live?”

Jeremy froze, his eyes widening behind his mask as he scrambled for an answer. He pitched his voice down, his mind flashing through conversations for _any excuse_ , and stuttered, “I-I, uh. Have blueprints? To every building in the tri-state area.”

Michael’s eyes went wide. Jeremy was afraid he was going to call him out on his lie, or ask him to prove it, or realize that he only said it because Michael had theorized it one week earlier.

Instead, Michael forgot his fear of heights long enough to throw a fist into the air, whooping, “I _knew_ it! Oh, man, can’t wait to tell- oh, wait! We gotta take a picture! You and I! Nobody’ll believe me otherwise! Can we? Please?”

Jeremy lifted his hands and shook his head, an apology on his tongue. Except Michael looked so eager, so _happy,_ that Jeremy found himself saying in his fake Keanu Reeves voice, “Yeah, okay, just don’t send it to any, like, press or whatever, please? You’ll only make yourself a target.”

Michael nodded furiously, almost dropping his phone off the roof in an attempt to get it out and open the camera. Jeremy leaned in and smiled, then remembered they wouldn’t be able to see the smile anyway, but kept it up because didn’t know what else to do.  

Michael took about two dozen selfies, each with a different face. His skin felt warm against Jeremy’s through the suit. He could hear Michael breathing, could sense his pulse rocketing under his skin, could see his hands shaking from adrenaline and nerves and excitement. Jeremy wondered what would happen if he just pulled off his mask right then and there. Then, he heard Michael say his name.  

“Jeremy’s gonna _flip,”_ Michael said, pulling away and flicking through the camera. Jeremy’s attention snapped back to his best friend, who was drumming his fingers on the roof, his gaze flicking from his phone to the real-life version of his hero in front of him. “He’s never gonna believe it. He always thought I was gonna get killed or maimed or whatever doing this.”

Jeremy’s insides turned to honey, relief spreading through him at the confirmation that Michael didn’t hate him. Since the bridge incident, Michael hadn’t been himself, at least not towards Jeremy. They still carpooled in the mornings and sat with each other at lunch, but Michael hadn’t made an effort to _talk_ to him since Saturday afternoon, when they had fought and Jeremy had shown him his bruised ribs. 

The ribs had mostly healed, save for the occasional twinge when he stretched a weird way, but Michael had remained silent.

“Who’s Jeremy?” Jeremy asked tentatively, afraid of what he would say. Michael knew everything about him _and_ was pissed at him. He could tell Spiderman every reason why he and Michael would never work, why Jeremy could fuck off and die for all he cared, and Jeremy would still have to pretend that everything was fine when he went back to school tomorrow.

Michael gaped. “You’re Spiderman, dude! Don’t you have better things to do than listen to a lovesick teenager?”

Jeremy’s heart nearly stopped. _Love?_

Out loud, he said, “Well, when in Jersey.”

“He’s my best friend,” Michael said, his voice steady and sure. “He’s the best. He’s being kind of an idiot because he won’t tell me what’s up with him right now, but he’s still hilarious and dumb and a total fucking loser, but in the best way, y’know?”

Jeremy nodded, his mouth dry. His heartbeat was pounding impossibly loud in his head, his hands sweaty and a blush burning his cheeks.  

“And he thinks nobody likes him and he always talks about how nobody will ever love him but-” Michael’s voice cracked and his face went soft. He looked over Jeremy’s shoulder to the other side of his backyard. _“I_ love him. And I mean, so does everyone else, I guess, but. He doesn’t see it.”

“Really?” Jeremy squeaked, his voice three octaves higher than what he had been faking. He coughed, then repeated like Keanu Reeves, “I mean- really?”

 “He’s my best friend,” Michael repeated quietly. “And I really do love him. Though, like, probably more than I should? As in, I know literally everything about him and I still want to know more? And also, like. I want to kiss him sometimes. Except that that’s super gay, and he is definitely not.”

Jeremy felt guilt creep up his spine. He should stop Michael before he went on. He didn’t deserve to hear this, not before Michael was ready to tell him, before Jeremy had earned that trust and before Jeremy told him the biggest secret he ever had.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Michael laughed, but it sounded sad. “Sorry. You don’t wanna hear about this, you’re Spiderman. You could probably get any girl you want.

“Nobody knows I’m Spiderman,” Jeremy paused, then he sat next to Michael so their legs were pressed against each other. He tilted his chin down and kept his voice lowered. “And don’t get me wrong, girls are great. Really. But. Y’know. Not sure how the world would take a, um. Bisexual superhero.”

 _Jesus Christ,_ Jeremy thought to himself. _Why did you say that? You’re just gonna have to do it again, only you’re not gonna have the whole superhero thing to back you up, and you’re not even sure, and-_

 _“What?_ Dude, you’d be a _bi icon,”_ Michael gasped, leaning away so he could look at him better and interrupting Jeremy’s panic. Jeremy just draped his arms across his bent knees, wringing his hands together. “A _bi-con._ That’s amazing! Jesus Christ, as if you couldn’t get _more perfect,_ what the fuck.”

Jeremy looked at Michael, who was staring at him intently. They were so close. Jeremy could see the marks that his glasses had left after being pressed into his skin during their commute. One of the corners of his mouth quirked up a little more than the other, and Jeremy was thankful Michael couldn’t see him staring at his mouth. He said, “But, yeah. I do know what it’s like to be into someone who doesn’t know you’re interested. And I’m really not perfect, so-”

“You’ve saved my life and also half the tri-state area’s, even though, let’s be real, south Jersey definitely does not deserve to be saved,” Michael said. “If I were Spiderman, it’d solve all my problems. I’d tell everyone.”

“It doesn’t solve problems. It just causes more,” Jeremy muttered. “People would just get hurt if they knew. And every day you have to leave your friends or your family and not know if you’re gonna make it back alive. It _sucks.”_

“So… just. You don’t tell anybody?” Michael asked. _“At all?”_

“Well, I mean. The others know. Like the Toxic Talkers and the Tempest. They’re great. But they’re not like me. I mean, they’re amazing. But I’m just-,” He waved his hands at nothing. “You know.”

 “Stronger and better and faster and more powerful than everybody else?” Michael said, nudging Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy snorted. “Yeah. I know.”

“I was gonna say 'different',” Jeremy said, trying to get Michael to understand. “It just means nobody can know. Because then people like the Squip would just target them because they’re close to _me._ I can’t- I can’t let that happen.”

“Maybe you should let them take that risk,” Michael said. “I mean, I know I’d rather be told the truth and deal with the consequences than know something’s wrong from the outside and not be able to do anything about it.”

 Jeremy let his head knock against the wall of the house. In front of them, the sun was sinking into the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with a multitude of pinks and reds. The silhouettes of the trees dotting the landscape swayed against the sunset, and the warm May wind ghosted over Jeremy’s still-damp suit like a breath.

His right hand lifted up and settled on his throat, where his mask met the suit. He brushed his fingers against the seam, tempted to just lift it up and get it over with. He had to tell Michael eventually, why not now?

But then he looked over at Michael, who had somewhat relaxed despite the heights and was staring at the sunset, lost in thought. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, the fading sunlight reflecting in his glasses and his left hand still gripping the roof.

Michael looked so open, so vulnerable, in a way Jeremy had seldom seen. He had confessed everything to Spiderman so easily, like he had been _waiting_ for somebody to tell, for somebody to ask. Jeremy realized with a start that he must have been doing just that. Jeremy was all Michael had, too. It would kill him to know the first person he had confessed everything to was just the person his confessions had been _about._

He couldn’t tell him he was Spiderman now.  Michael would call him a sick and psychotic for letting him tell Jeremy everything without stopping him. Anything Michael had felt for him would probably disappear the second he told Michael who he was, and Jeremy would lose his only chance.  

He couldn’t do anything it as _Jeremy_ either, because Michael was still upset with him and _Jeremy_ had no reason to think that Michael thought of him any differently, even though he felt exactly the same way.

 His hand fell from his throat and landed at his side, picking at a shingle half-heartedly.

They watched the sunset together in comfortable silence. A train’s horn rang in the distance and the occasional car drove down the street on the other side of Michael’s house. A deer walked through Michael’s backyard below them, visible only in silhouette in the darkening light. Somewhere, someone was having a bonfire, and Jeremy could smell the rich smoke as it reached the roof.

Jeremy felt Michael’s hand rest on his own. He looked over, but only saw his profile, still staring ahead. Jeremy looked at their hands, then back at Michael, and turned back towards the sunset.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to clarify:  
> -chloe's superhero costume is neon green leggings, a white athletic shirt, and a hot pink sports bra and like, white adidas sneakers.  
> -brooke's is neon pink leggings, a white athletic shirt, and a neon green sports bra with white adidas sneakers.  
> -they're also wearing makeshift sweatbands with like, holes cut out for their eyes as a mask.  
> -if anybody ever drew art for this i would cry  
> -i'm also gonna be starting a new job soon, (lol wish me luck) but imma try to keep updating as much as possible!!  
> -please kudos/comment it means the WORLD to me!! thoughtful comments make me write more!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo im sorry for disappearing for almost a week! i started work and then also couldn't figure out how to start this chapter (the first part went through like four rewrites lmao). unrelated: andre braugher (captain holt from b99) showed up at my job and i cried a little bit lmao 
> 
> anyway this chapter is a rollercoaster. it's mostly plot. all will be explained later. have fun!!

Without the whole superhero thing, Jeremy was a mostly normal teenaged boy with an extraordinary talent for being lazy. So, when his dad knocked on his bedroom door and asked him to walk downtown and buy milk before he went to bed, Jeremy just grunted in response, already dreading the twenty minute walk ahead of him.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy caught sight of the red and blue spandex suit peeking out from the corner of his closet, and he realized he didn't need to think in terms of 'without the whole superhero thing'.

Ten minutes later, Spiderman was swinging down to the lot behind the CVS to change into something that didn’t scream _SUPERHERO!,_ when he heard someone’s voice, low and angry. 

Jeremy hid behind a dumpster, trying to see what was going on without being seen.

It was Dustin Kropp, pinning some scrawny kid against the brick wall of the CVS. He was speaking too low for Jeremy to hear any distinct words, but he sounded pissed. Jeremy ran a hand over his masked face. Couldn’t he just get milk in peace?

He climbed on top of the dumpster, standing on the lid and crossing his arms. The terrified teenager’s eyes slid to Jeremy’s and widened. Dustin, whose fist had been drawn and ready to strike, saw the kid’s change in expression and turned, following his gaze.

Dustin’s mouth fell open and he gasped, “Spiderman? The _fuck?_ ”

“Always nice to meet a fan,” Jeremy said, jumping off the dumpster and striding towards his classmate. Dustin’s hand fell from the kid’s collar, who dropped to the ground. “What’re you up to, man? Harassing high-school freshman? _So_ cool.”  

The kid who had just been pinned to the wall sprinted away. Jeremy let him go, shaking out his wrists and stepping closer to where Dustin was frozen in place. He felt ridiculous. Dustin was Middleborough’s weed dealer, and he always offered Jeremy some whenever he went along with Michael.

But Dustin was also one of the kids who originated the gay rumors, back in seventh grade, and was a big reason why Jeremy didn’t have any friends other than Michael for most of his life. 

Jeremy webbed him to the wall.

“Please don’t kill me,” Dustin begged, his voice high. He had a tattoo of an anchor on his neck. “Please- my Mom will kill me. Please-!”

“What’s your deal?” Jeremy asked. Dustin reeked of tobacco and body odor, sweat shining across his forehead.  Jeremy was several inches taller than him, but the web had pinned him to the wall a few inches above the ground so they were on even ground. “He was just a kid.” 

“He wasn’t _paying,”_ He said, squirming under Spiderman’s gaze. “I gave him his two weeks! He kept saying he’d bring the money and he never did!”

“So, what, you were just gonna punch him?”

“No!" Dustin cried. “I was just gonna toss him around a little, make him afraid, y’know? Just a scare tactic so he’d get me the money.” 

“Just so he’d pay?”

“Yeah!” His feet kicked helplessly a foot above the ground. “I got things to do! I have to pay my supplier, man! I told you, man, my Mom will _end_ me if I ask her for gas money again! Don’t kill me, please!”

“What was he paying you for?” Jeremy asked, clenching his fists. He took a step closer. Dustin whimpered in fear.

“A drug. It’s new. They’re calling it Mount Dew.” 

Jeremy stopped inches away from his face. “Mountain Dew?”

“No, no, no, _Mount_ Dew. Please, man, I can’t say anything else. They’ll fuck me up _so_ bad if I do.”

“I have super strength, y’know,” Jeremy raised a fist, as if to punch him. Jeremy wasn’t going to hit him, but he wasn’t sure what he would do if he didn’t speak. Dustin whined deep in his throat and tried to press back against the wall. Jeremy went on, laying it on thick, “I can lift seven thousand pounds. Maybe more. Haven’t tried." 

“Alright, alright, please don’t hurt me,” the guy said, stumbling over his words as he tried to get them out fast enough. “Please don’t hurt me- I’ll tell you everything!”

Jeremy relaxed his fist, but kept his hand raised. “Start talking.”

“It’s a drug, like I said,” Dustin said, his skin pale and his voice wobbly. “It makes you better.”

“Makes you better?”

“I dunno, man, my supplier just says it. He thinks it’s gonna hit the real-deal markets soon. Like with Adderall and all that shit. An actual drug. It’ll be a new pills type ‘a thing, y’know? Won’t even have to mix it in with the good shit in order to keep people comin’ back. Not even with nicotine or _anything._ My supplier says you only gotta sell it once and then it sells itself."

"Sells itself? What did he mean by that?"

"I think he said, 'sell it to them once, and you won't need to sell it again'," Dustin said. "Y'know, because it goes so easy."

“Who’s your supplier?”

“Oh, c’mon, I can’t say, he’ll really kill me-”

“Who,” Jeremy said, stepping even closer to the man. He could see the specks of leftover chewing tobacco in the guy’s teeth, could smell the garlic he had for lunch, could sense his blind panic. “Is. Your. Supplier.”

 _“Please,”_ Dustin rasped. “Please, I can’t-” 

Jeremy lifted his fist back again, as if getting ready to strike.

“Please, man, I’m just doin’ my job, bro, I need the money, my Mom, I’m all she’s got-”

Jeremy saw the fear in Dustin’s eyes, saw that he thought he was about to die. The guy babbled on, desperate for anything that would let him keep his life, “Please, Spidey, my man, I can’t tell you who he is but I can give you some. It’s really good shit, I promise. Free of charge, on me. You’ll _fly."_  

“You’re disgusting,” Jeremy spat, dropping his arm. Dustin wasn’t going to talk, and he really didn’t want to hurt him. “And besides, I can already fly.”

Dustin’s eyes widened, and Jeremy webbed him tighter against the wall for good measure before shooting out a web and slinging himself away.  

He didn’t go far, just touched down in the front of the CVS on the other side of the corner and only felt slightly guilty as he ducked into the drugstore still dressed as Spiderman.

The girl at the counter was busy refilling her change drawer, so Jeremy ducked unnoticed into an aisle and tried to find a non-expired gallon of 2%. Instead, he came face-to-face with himself on the cover of the New York Times.

It was the picture Michael had taken yesterday, and it was a _good_ one. Somehow, despite Michael’s utter lack of photography skills, he had taken the best picture of Spiderman that Jeremy had ever seen. Most of the time, newspapers were stuck using blurry iPhone pictures or artist’s renditions of whatever superhero they had managed to get on camera.

In this picture, however, the sun was setting directly behind them, illuminating Spiderman and the Toxic Talkers in a blaze of firelight. Jeremy stood slightly in front of the trio, knees bent and his body tense, ready to run at a moment’s notice. The suit emphasized the muscle he had gained from fighting villains of the day over the past six months, his previously scrawny arms and legs now looked lithe and able. The picture, taken from the height of Michael’s chest, was slightly below where Jeremy had been staring, which emphasized the line of Jeremy’s jaw beneath the skin-tight suit. The fabric glowed bright in the late afternoon sunlight.

Behind him, Brooke and Chloe looked just as powerful. The surprise that had been written across their faces translated to concentration in the photo, and they looked equally ready to spring as Spiderman did. They were angled outward, having been ready to turn and run to the car when the photo was taken.

Brooke’s loose white t-shirt hung off her shoulder, exposing the neon green fabric of her sports bra. Her arms were loose at her side, ready to jog away, and her blonde hair looked like fire in the setting sunlight. Chloe was looking straight at the camera, her features poised and alert under the sweatband she wore as a mask. She was on her toes, her torso semi-twisted but her head still facing forward, already moving away, her ponytail frozen in motion as it flipped over her shoulder.

Jeremy wondered if this is what the public saw every time they showed up, and could almost understand why they trusted them to save the day. They didn’t just look competent _._ They looked _powerful_.

He picked up the newspaper and found the milk. At the counter, the girl looked up from counting her dimes, and promptly dropped them into the cash register. Jeremy vaguely recognized her from his math class sophomore year. She had once lent him a pencil that he never returned.

“Um,” Jeremy said. “How much?”

 _“Dude,”_ the girl said, pushing the items closer to him. “It’s yours.”

“I really couldn’t-”

“Uh, yes you can?” The girl said. She crossed her arms and nodded at the milk and the paper. “You saved my mom’s life on the bridge last week. She’ll literally kill me if I didn’t let you do this.”

“I have the money, though.” 

“That suit has pockets?” The girl said, raising an eyebrow. “Doubtful.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jeremy said. It did have pockets, thanks to Chloe’s mom’s expert sewing skills. It actually had two of them, one on his hip and another on his calf. Jeremy had a flattened ten dollar bill in the latter, which he took out and put on the counter.

The girl didn’t take the money. “You’re telling me that your dumb spandex has pockets and none of my jeans do? That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy snorted. “The girls I know won’t shut up about it.”    

The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh my _God_. Are you talking about the Toxic Talkers? Can you tell them they’re my favorites?”

“Uh, I have other-”

“Also, their outfits are _killer_. I went as them for Halloween, like, _before_ it was cool.”

“That’s a little weird-" 

“Ugh, they’re just so cool,” The girl sighed, then paused. “Wait. What are you doing at CVS? In New Jersey? Don’t you live in the city?”

“I, uh,” Jeremy stuttered. “Um. Well. I commute. But it’s kind of a secret.”

“Huh,” she said, nodding. “I respect that. But tell them what I said.”

“I’ll let them know, I guess,” Jeremy muttered, grabbing his items and pushing the ten closer to her. “Also, I webbed someone to the wall outside in the back! Sorry!”

“What?” the girl inhaled, turning around as if she would see Dustin right behind her.

Jeremy strode towards the door, calling, “Keep the change!”

 _“Wait!”_ The girl called after him, whipping back around and grabbing his ten, but Jeremy was already gone.

 

*             *            *

 

He showed up at Michael’s house an hour later, wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt and holding the newspaper under his arm. He hadn’t really seen him since they held hands on the roof, because Jeremy had panicked and gone out of his way to avoid him during school, not knowing how he’d act in front of him now that he knew of Michael’s feelings, and still afraid that Michael hated him even though he knew otherwise.

But Michael had been right. It was better for him to know and help than stay oblivious and get hurt. Besides, Jeremy was done lying. Michael was his best friend and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on lying. He needed his help. He _wanted_ his help.

So he would tell him. He just needed to get Michael talking to him first.

He was standing in front of Michael’s back door, having sent the text message that he was outside. It was a warm Friday night and cicadas sang loudly, hidden in the trees. Jeremy looked up at the stars, only semi-visible through the outer reaches of the city’s light pollution. Thin clouds hung hazy in the sky beyond the trees.

The door opened in front of him, and Jeremy came face to face with Michael, whose face seemed schooled into a perfect expression of prepared calm. He looked nervous and carefully restrained, unsure of what to say. He had the red hood of his sweatshirt up, draping his face in shadow while his messy hair peeked out from under the fabric.

Jeremy held out the newspaper. “Dude, you took this?”

Michael looked at the picture, then back at Jeremy, and nodded.

“I love it,” Jeremy offered quietly. “It’s amazing. _You’re_ amazing.”

Michael’s features softened, but he didn’t step out of the way. Jeremy ran his thumb across the skin of his wrist.

“And, I’m sorry,” he said. “For ditching you at lunch. And for showing up at your house beaten to a pulp and not giving you a proper explanation. I _promise_ I’ll tell you. Soon. And for being a dick. And for not saying sorry before. And for acting like I hate you. I don’t hate you. At all. Please don’t hate me.”

Relief split Michael’s face, and his grin was so wide that Jeremy couldn’t help but smile tentatively back.

“I don’t hate you,” Michael said, and stood aside to let Jeremy pass, and together they padded down the stairs into the basement.

It had only been a week, but it was still probably the longest Jeremy had gone without coming over in years. It was exactly how he had last seen it. The posters were still taped up everywhere, covering the deep red paint of the basement walls, and the room was lit only by the two lava lamps that sank the room in red and blue light. The beige carpet was littered with empty soda bottles and stale bags of chips, while Michael’s unmade bed sat across from the short bookshelf filled with video games. There was still the familiar smell of weed and Febreeze and Axe body spray. Jeremy breathed it all in, committing it to memory.

The TV was on, but muted, and  _News 12 New Jersey_ reporting on something in New York. Once settled on their respective bean bags, Michael handed Jeremy a soda and sat back.  

“We should probably talk about this,” Michael said. “As in. A serious conversation. Like adults.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Jeremy replied. “Later, though. Tell me about Spiderman.”

Michael’s apprehension faded as he started eagerly recounting what had happened the day before. His face was glowing, his hands making nonsense signs in the air as he used them to explain the chain of events.  

“So, I was in Midtown trying to convince myself to go _towards_ the mass of noise that was trying to kill people, and I was so scared shitless that I couldn’t do it, so I got a slushie to calm myself down before I went, and then I look up and _Spiderman_ is there, like, _right in front of me,”_ Michael said, all in one breath, licking his lips and moving his hands rapidly in front of him. “And I, not gonna lie to you Jer, straight up just tell him I love him, because he’s standing there looking like a goddamn _god_ two feet in front of me!”

Jeremy snickered, remembering. “You would.”

“I _know!_ It was the worst,” Michael laughed and kept going. “But also I take a picture? Because like, that’s what I was _there to do._ And I didn’t think it was gonna turn out great because, like, I was _shaking._ And then I got that-” He motioned to the paper with one hand and nudged his glasses up his nose with his other. “And I wanted to tell you so bad but you were pissed at me and I was pissed at you and I didn’t want to be the one to give in and-”

Jeremy watched him talk, mesmerized. Michael’s mouth was slick and shiny from when he had licked his lips, and his hair was falling in his face as his ducked his head in time with his story. His voice was bright and alive, happy for the first time in over a week. His legs were tucked underneath him but his torso moved as he went through his explanation. Jeremy sat cross-legged with his hands on his ankles, his sweatshirt sleeves wrapped around his knuckles, a soft smile struck dumb across his face as he nodded along to what Michael was saying. His heart swelled with the familiarity of his movements and mannerisms, at home in the knowledge that even after everything Jeremy had done, Michael still let him back in.

Michael loved Jeremy. Jeremy _knew_ this, had heard Michael say it hardly a day ago, but couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact. It made him feel like a balloon, full and airy and bright. And something about Jeremy made Michael feel the same.

Without thinking, Jeremy twisted and let his head fall on Michael’s thighs.

“Um,” The other boy paused, looking down at Jeremy, who was staring at him from his lap. “You good, Jer?”

“I’m great,” Jeremy said, content, adjusting himself so he was stretched out on his back with his legs bent, his hands fiddling on his stomach. “Keep going. You were on the roof? But you _hate_ heights.”  

Michael’s eyes crinkled and his features looked fond, but he went on anyway. “I _know._ But I mean, if I fell, I was pretty sure he’d just catch me. Also, we were having such a _moment-”_

He watched Michael’s jaw move as he spoke and wondered how it would feel to leave a hickey under his ear. His heart was full and he felt calm for the first time since the bridge, knowing that Michael was safe and alive and didn’t hate Jeremy despite all he had done to him.

Michael left out the parts about how he felt about Jeremy, but that was okay. Jeremy knew, and that was enough. He just needed to tell him who he was. The rest would come from that.

Except he couldn’t open his mouth. He didn’t want to argue again. He wanted to stay this close to him forever, soaking in the clean smell of his detergent and his body wash. He would tell him. Soon. And then they’d have an adult conversation about consequences and trust and anything else Michael wanted to talk about. Just not now.

Then, Michael’s hands wandered to Jeremy’s hair and started playing with his curls, and Jeremy melted into Michael’s lap, all rational thought disappearing from his head. His eyes fell shut and his hands went still on his stomach as Michael’s fingers worked gently against his scalp.

Michael felt like home, and for the first time in a long time, Jeremy let himself relax.

He didn’t realize he had nodded off until Michael unmuted the TV and the news anchor’s loud voice brought him back.

 _“Negotiations are in progress for the distribution and mandate of a new vaccine that allegedly prevents all disease and enhances normal human functioning, leading to longer lifespans and clearer senses, such as better sight and hearing. They’re calling it M.T.D.E.W., or, colloquially, Mount Dew for short.”_  

Jeremy sat up groggily, mourning the loss of Michael’s warmth. Michael made a noise in protest, but Jeremy shushed him and stared at the TV.

“Turn it up,” he demanded, moving closer to the screen. “It’s important.” 

“More important than keeping me warm?” Michael complained, reaching under the beanbag for the remote and turning it up. “I think not.”

 Jeremy felt his ears heat up at that, but didn’t respond. The news anchor continued, _“The C.E.O. of the international Japan-based company, Unit Intel Processing, met with leaders at the UN today in New York to discuss and prepare for the world launch of the wonder-drug, which is due to be announced at UN headquarters early next month. We have our own News 12 correspondant on the scene, who was lucky enough to exchange a few words about the company's unique development processes with the CEO himself on his way out of meetings.”_

A blonde woman appeared on screen in front of a tall glass building, and introduced the head of the company.

It was the Squip.

“Oh no, no, no,” Jeremy muttered. “This is not good. This is really really not good.”

“Jeremy?” Michael asked, scooting himself so he was sitting next to him. Jeremy only faintly recognized Michael’s leg pressed against his own.“What’s up with you?”

 _“Shh,”_ Jeremy hissed. “ Listen.”

The Squip’s skin was no longer blue. He wasn’t hovering in midair, and the world moved normally around him, unlike what had happened on the bridge. Instead, he looked…. _normal_.

Here, he was a tall and imposing Japanese man who spoke with calm authority and an amicability that the news anchor lapped up. _“M.T.D.E.W., ah, what are they calling it these days? Oh, Mount Dew, works by interacting with the body at its most fundamental levels. It changes the way your atoms and cells interact with the world around it, so these elements become less damaging to the body over time and instead seem to energize it.”_

 “Sounds pretty cool,” Michael said, nudging Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy shook his head, turning to face him. 

“No, it’s not,” Jeremy insisted. “Look, I ran into Dustin Kropp earlier. He’s selling this same drug. Mount Dew.”

“What? Since when do you buy weed?” Michael’s eyes widened. “Did _he_ beat the shit out of you? Jeremy-!?”

 _“No,”_ Jeremy breathed. “He said his supplier was having him deal it out to everybody he knew, said it makes people better, said it would make me _fly_.”

“What does that even _mean,_ Jer?”

“That’s what I said! But this guy must be his supplier! How else would he have gotten it? It’s not just a coincidence-”

“Why would a billionaire want to sell his _revolutionary vaccine_  to a bunch of teenagers?” Michael asked. “In _New Jersey?”_

“I don’t know,” Jeremy said slowly, trying to think. “But doesn’t it seem suspicious to you? Why would he sell it if it’s gonna be a mandatory vaccine in a few days anyway?”

He couldn’t piece it together. Why _would_ the Squip make sure it was sold through a high school drug dealer? In New Jersey?

Why had he asked Jeremy to come with him on the bridge? Why had he been so insistent to capture them? He had said that Jeremy was created because of him. Was the drug that had given Jeremy his powers the same one he was trying to distribute worldwide? Why would he want to give the rest of the world powers? Why did the Squip seem so frustrated that Jeremy wouldn’t obey him?

_Unless…_

“That’s the Squip,” Jeremy gasped, figuring the villain's plan out. “Michael, I know you have no reason to believe me, but that’s the Squip and he’s gonna kill _so many people-”_

“Jeremy, what?” Michael didn’t believe him. “That’s ridiculous. I was closer to him than you ever were and I don’t even think that.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Jeremy said, his thoughts running over each other as they scrambled into place. His stomach lurched. “Oh, God. I have to go- I have to-”

“Dude, are you okay?” Michael’s voice sounded distant. Jeremy’s neck was cold, his spider-senses on red-alert. Everything felt blurry. “You don’t look so-”

Jeremy tried to reply, but he just gaped in response. His chest was heaving. He couldn’t breathe.  

 _“Jeremy,”_ Michael said. He felt hands grip his shoulders, and Michael’s concerned face swam into view. “You gotta breathe, buddy.”

“I-I can’t,” Jeremy hiccuped, wrapping his hands in the fabric Michael’s hoodie. His chest heaved and his heart was climbing up his throat. “It’s bad, Michael, it’s so bad. This is so-”

“ _Stop hyperventilating-”_

“People are gonna die-”

And then Michael was kissing him.  

Jeremy’s brain short-circuited. He went still. Michael wasn’t moving against him, he just pressed his lips softly against Jeremy’s and stayed there, unmoving. Both of their eyes remained open, and they stared at each other, terrified and shocked.

Michael broke away first, his face red and refusing to meet Jeremy’s eyes.

Jeremy squeaked, _“Did you just kiss me?”_

Michael started rambling as fast as he could, his eyes moving around the room and landing everywhere except on the boy in front of him. “I saw it on TV, okay, that kissing stops your breathing because when you have a panic attack or hyperventilate and it feels like you can’t get any air that’s not actually true because really what happens is you have too much air and kissing makes you hold your breath so I-”

 _“Michael,”_ Jeremy breathed, his voice an octave too high and trying to work through _any_ of the trains of thought running around his head. “Is that really why you did it?”

Michael went even redder, almost matching the color of his sweatshirt. “Well, ha, about that-”  

“If not,” Jeremy said, his brain still working frantically. “Then, me too. I. I want to. Again. If you do.”  

Michael’s face shifted into an expression of broken relief. His eyes went impossibly soft. “You do?” 

Jeremy nodded. Michael’s smile was small but genuine, and he leaned in once again.

And then everything fell into place in Jeremy’s head.

He jerked away as if he had been shocked. “Oh, _shit,_ Michael, I’m so fucking sorry, but I have to go _right now-”_  

Michael’s face fell and he opened his mouth in an unspoken question, crestfallen. Jeremy was already standing up, his brain rushing and his body trembling with the force of the realization of what the Squip’s plan was.

“Dude, _Michael,”_ he said, halfway across the basement. “I love you, and I'll be back and we are _definitely_ having that adult conversation. But I have to go.”

“You love- _what?”_ Michael yelled after him, confused, scrambling to stand up as Jeremy raced up the stairs _. “Jeremy!?”_  

Jeremy burst out of Michael’s house and didn’t wait for Michael to follow, instead leaping off the stoop and taking to the sky, slinging through the air in only his old gray hoodie and skinny jeans. He hadn’t even put on his shoes, his toes curling in his socks as he webbed home. Anybody could see him and recognize him, but Jeremy didn’t care.

He had to stop the Squip.  

Before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, some notes:
> 
> -the picture that michael took for the cover of the newspaper is EPIC. like it goes down in history.  
> -going to CVS at night for milk and trying to find non-expired milk is THE most underrated nj thing you will ever know. it might be a worldwide thing but here's the catch: there is definitely a drive-through dunkin right next to the CVS.  
> -blatantly stole the kissing thing from teen wolf. fight me. who cares if it's true or not. michael panicked.  
> -dustin kropp is a jewish frat boy who ends up going to Tulane for college. sorry, i dont make the rules.  
> -jeremy is such a Soft Boy in this old ratty gray sweatshirt that DROWNS him and the sleeves are too long and he's wearing socks and skinny jeans and lbr his hair is sticking up all over the place after he sits up and watches the TV. if this wasn't in jeremy's pov you'd get 2 paragraphs on how endearing michael finds it.  
> -poor michael jesus christ give the boy a BREAK (it's coming i promise but also shit's goin DOWN soon lol)  
> -if you wanna share this on tumblr i'd love u forever!! (i'd post about it except i have irl college friends on there lmao and they just dont need to know how obsessed i am with this)  
> -comments and kudos make the world go 'round!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is.... 90% dialogue and 100% plot/exposition. i am so sorry i didn't mean for it to be this much talking lol but it's all important, and i promise no other chapter will be this dialogue-heavy. i did my best to make them all sound different and in-character but lol yknow how it goes.

Jeremy showed up at Jake’s house five minutes after leaving Michael’s, still in his socks, and pounded on the door until the taller boy answered. Jake hadn’t been expecting him; his eyebrows were raised and he was wearing only a pair of jeans, but Jeremy didn’t give him a chance to respond before he pushed his way inside, already talking.

“I think I figured out the Squip,” Jeremy said, pulling out his phone and walking up the stairs towards Jake’s bedroom, typing out a 911 text to _Subway Soup or Hero_. “It’s really bad. We need to figure out a plan right now.”

 “Bro,” Jake said, stumbling after him. “Not sure this is the best time-?”

“People are going to _die_ ,” Jeremy insisted. He sent the text message and slid his phone back into his pocket, climbing up the stairs while he spoke. “I mean, I’ll explain more when the others get here-” 

_“Jeremy-”_

“But we don’t have much time and we need to figure out a plan-” He sped down the upstairs hallway, waving his hands in front of him as he worked through what he needed to say. Jake’s bedroom door lay at the end of the hall, the door shut.

“Jeremy, please don’t-”

Jeremy pushed open Jake’s bedroom door, only looking up once he stepped inside. “He’s going to take over the world like some sort of-  ah! _Rich?!”_

Rich was standing in the middle of Jake’s bedroom, wearing only his McDonald’s-themed boxers. His hair was rumpled and the room smelled faintly of smoke. He smiled sheepishly and gave a small nod. “Hey, Jeremy.”

Jake burst into the room behind Jeremy, crying out, _“It’s not what it looks like!”_

Jeremy, frozen to the ground, made a strangled noise and couldn’t figure out which of the two boys to look at. He wondered when world domination by a psycho with blue skin and actual freaking _telekinesis_ started making more sense than his own life.  

Rich snorted at Jake. “Nah, it’s definitely what it looks like.”

 _“Rich!”_ Jake hissed. Jeremy looked back and forth between them. “It looks like we fucked!”

“Okay, fine,” Rich acquiesced, turning his gaze to Jeremy. He shrugged. “There’s _more to it_ than just what it looks like.”

 _“What,”_ Jeremy repeated. “Since when-? Is- is _that_ where you guys kept disappearing to during lunch? Jesus Christ- never mind, I don’t wanna know. I _don’t want to know._ ”  

“Rich doesn’t know how to use his powers!” Jake scrambled to explain.

 _“Not true,”_ Rich insisted. “Jeremy, that is _false,_ Jake might be perfect but he is a _liar-”_

“Okay, _fine,”_ Jake groaned, moving over to his dresser and digging through the drawer. “Rich _used_ to not know how to use his powers, so I was helping him figure it out. Like- like tutoring. Or something.”

“Except I couldn’t figure out how to control them under _duress,”_ Rich explained, wriggling his eyebrows. He found it _funny._ Jeremy didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “So Jake offered to, well, _duress_ me. And it got a little _heated,_ if you know what I’m sayin’-”

 _“I don’t wanna know,”_ Jeremy wailed again, placing his hands over his ears as if Rich were the Scream. “Please, stop talking! And put on clothes before the others come and end up as scarred as I am. I never need to see _any of this_ ever again Jake _where is your bleach_ I’m going to drink it all. _”_

Jake recovered enough to throw an oversized Sbarro’s t-shirt at Rich’s head, who put it on without complaint. It fell to his knees, which he acknowledged with a satisfied noise in his throat, and took a seat on Jake’s bed. Jeremy shook his head and collapsed in Jake’s desk chair, while Jake moved to put on a shirt of his own. 

Then, Jeremy’s phone buzzed, letting him know that Brooke and Chloe were outside, just as someone tapped on the window. Rich flinched and whipped around, almost falling off the bed, his hair starting to smoke.

The window opened from the outside and Christine pulled herself through, pulling the blinds shut behind her. Jake rolled his eyes, muttered, “So _dramatic,”,_ and disappeared to let the other two girls inside.  

Christine flew to the center of Jake’s room, where she crossed her legs and remained hovering a few feet above the ground. Her dress fluttered around her glittering mermaid leggings, and the untied shoelaces of her Converse brushed against the carpet from her position in the air.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and said, “Is everything okay? I got your text, Jeremy, and I was so worried because I know for you all caps means _business_ so I flew right over? I didn’t bring my costume though, so if we have to go out tonight I’ll have to go back home- Oh! Also, sorry for scaring you, Rich, but I saw you guys in here and didn’t want to wait for you to open the door. Also, Jeremy, are you okay? Your hair looks-?”

"You looked as fucked as I do," Rich snickered. 

"I didn't fuck anyone!" Jeremy defended, too loudly. Rich and Christine gave him an inquisitive look. Jeremy felt his face go red. "I- um. Michael kissed me? And then I ran here right after?" 

"You  _what?!"_ Christine and Rich shrieked in unison. 

"Oh, so you find out I'm fucking Jake and it's the end of fuckin'  _days-"_ Rich began. Christine flung a hand out and hit Rich's chest. 

"Rich,  _what?_ No, never mind, we all knew that.  _Jeremy-!"_ Christine flew over to Jeremy and started smacking him, punctuating her words with further hits to his side. "“ _How could you do that!_ Michael Mell has been nothing but an _angel_  to you since the first grade and now look what you’re doing! You’re giving him anxiety and you need to call him _right now_ and make sure he knows that you don't  _hate him_  or that you didn't  _die_ after he confessed his love for you! What the hell, Jeremy! I am so mad at you! Also proud, because coming out isn’t easy and I love you so much, but I cannot _believe_ you right now!”

"Christine!" Jeremy screeched, batting away her angry hands. "Please- please, stop! It's the Squip-!" Christine dodged his defenses and smacked him again.  _"The Squip is trying to take over the world!"_

Christine stopped, but still looked furious. She crossed her arms and her legs and hovered in the air in front of him. Jeremy stuttered under her gaze. "Listen, Chris, as much as I  _really freaking hate_ to admit, world domination is  _slightly_ more important than making out with my best friend." Christine still glared, so Jeremy repeated,  _"Slightly."_

"You need to text him," she demanded. "Right now."

"I will, I will, just- Let's talk about what I figured out first, okay? Please?" Jeremy begged. He didn't say that it was because he didn't know what to say to Michael. How they couldn't be together until Jeremy told him who he was, and how Jeremy  _definitely_ couldn't tell him now that he figured out the Squip's plan. Not to mention Jeremy had  _no_ idea how to explain the can of worms that was His Overwhelming Feelings for Michael Mell  _to_ Michael Mell. "I  _promise_ I will. Just. This first."

Christine must have heard the fear in his voice, so she just smacked his shoulder once more and sighed heavily. Rich just grumbled about too many surprises for one night as he tried to stop his hair from smoking, while Christine still looked angry and anxious. Jake returned, leading Brooke and Chloe into the room. Brooke looked concerned as she padded into the room holding an iced coffee, and Chloe scrolled through her phone and took a seat on Jake’s bed frame. 

Christine and Jeremy exchanged a look, where he pleaded with his eyes for her not to tell everybody. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't sure he could handle world domination  _and_ the public release of his problems. Christine rolled her eyes and looked away, acquiescing. Jeremy deflated in relief. 

“Okay, we’re all here,” Chloe said, popping her gum and locking her phone, dropping it into her lap. She sat up straight and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “What’s this 911 about? And why did you call it at _Jake’s_ house?”

“Let me explain,” Jeremy said. 

And he did.

 

*              *             *

 

“So. Let me get this straight,” Brooke said slowly, her hands in the air with her fingers pressed together as she summed up everything Jeremy had just explained. “The Squip is trying to take over the world through a super vaccine that is chemically connected to his own powers that… also allows him to telekinetically control massive groups of people at once by _changing the way their atoms_ interact with the world around them?”

“Yes.” 

“And the reason we ended up with our powers was because the Squip was testing an earlier version of the drug? And it went wrong?”

“I think so, yeah. It must have.” 

“And he’s selling it through high school drug dealers in New Jersey because one, he wants to see if it happens again and two, high schoolers do drugs more often than they do doctor’s appointments, so it’ll spread quicker? And three, to get to _us?”_

“Yes, yes, and yes.” 

“What a _dick,”_ Rich snorted. He grabbed one of Jake’s mini-basketball shaped throw-pillows and tossed it between his hands. “We’ll just tell people not to drink the jungle juice. Or do drugs. It’s all already sketchy as hell, shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yeah, ‘cause _that_ worked _so_ well for us to begin with,” Chloe said, looking at Rich like he was an idiot. Rich shrugged, and she rolled her eyes and addressed Jeremy, "So he needs everybody to have this weird chemical-hormonal reaction in order to what, be compatible with his powers? So he’s using drug dealers and hoping it spreads even quicker than a mandatory vaccine?”

“I think he wants us to know what he’s doing. I-I think he’s trying to scare us, or show us we aren’t special, or something.” Jeremy picked at the skin around his nails. “He’s trying to screw with everybody’s biology, so he can control them. His powers must not work properly on people who haven’t had the serum.”

“But what about us? Is this vaccine going to give everybody else powers, too? Or did he somehow manage to get rid of that _particular_ side effect?”

Jeremy shook his head, staring at the ground. “I-I don’t know. It must have been why the Squip wanted us to come with him, so he could test out the new drug on us and see what would happen, because we already have powers.” 

“Maybe he couldn’t control us properly, even with the serum?” Jake suggested. “Remember on the bridge? Christine, he couldn’t control you, he had to wrap you up in that suspension cable-?”

“No,” Christine interrupted quietly. “He _did_ control me. He made me close my mouth as I was trying to warn you about the kids on the bridge. It wasn’t just forcing me to be quiet, either. I didn’t _want_ to speak. It was just like what had happened at the play. I couldn’t speak, or move, or anything until he let me go.”

Jeremy frowned. “But then what about Jenna? Didn’t he send her because he couldn’t control Brooke and Chloe, either?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe said. “We’ve never battled him together.”

“Wait, that’s not true,” Rich said slowly. “At the play. We were all being controlled by _something_. Except for Spidey here, _someone_ was getting us to destroy the school.”

“The Squip wasn’t at the play, though,” Christine said, bringing her thumb to her mouth so she could gnaw on a hangnail.  “It was just Reyes, right? Who I guess was working for him, but it’s not like you can _transfer_ powers, can you?”

“I don’t know.” Jake leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “But I mean, until Jeremy saw him on the news, we had no idea who he was in real-life. He easily could have been in the audience or something. We never would have known. Reyes could have just been a distraction while the Squip puppeteered us.”

“A distraction? We _put him in prison!_ ” Chloe barked out a laugh, short and panicked. “Great! Now we’re executors of the law! Let me just add _that_ to my college apps, right under my explanation that the reason I bombed the SATs was because I got my _ass_ kicked the night before trying to save the fucking world, except that’s gonna be pointless now anyway!”  

“If it wasn’t Reyes controlling us, it wasn’t our fault that we thought he was!” Brooke defended. “We thought he was going to kill us!”

“Maybe _thinking_ isn’t good enough!” Chloe snapped. “If he’s got _mind-control_ and not just telekinesis, then we can’t _trust_ our thinking! We may as well be on our own!”

“Fuck,” Rich gasped, almost to himself. “We can’t trust _anybody_. We can’t trust ourselves. If we’ve already got the serum, _and_ we’ve got superpowers, then he could use us against our wills to help him take over the world. And there’d be nothing we can do.”

“Not helping, _Richard,”_ Christine hissed through gritted teeth. She was hovering in the air, anxiously fiddling with the skirt of her dress.

“We don’t even know what his fucking powers are!” Chloe yelled, her voice rising as she went on. “He could literally be able to do anything. We can’t do jack _shit_ against that! _”_

“We’re teenagers!” Rich said, feeding off her fear. Jake opened his mouth to calm Rich down but no sound came out, while Chloe nodded frantically in agreement with Rich’s words. “We don’t know what we’re doing! We should be dead by now! Why the _fuck_ is it our job to stop him?”

 _“Because nobody else can!”_ Jeremy shouted. The hair on his neck had raised with the tension that choked the room, and he felt panicked enough just from trying to piece everything together. He didn’t need everybody yelling angrily at each other, too. “Everyone just. Shut up. We’re the only ones who can do anything to stop him. The public isn’t gonna be able to get anywhere _near_ him, especially not with Jenna and who knows who else on his side. We need to _figure problems out,_ not create more, alright?”

The room was silent. The only person who met Jeremy’s gaze was Christine, who returned his searching look with wide eyes and a resolute nod.

He ran a thumb across his inner wrist, considering. He hated this. He hated how they were powerless against the Squip. They were the good guys, they were _supposed_ to be stronger so they could win. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult, like the universe had helped them get them this far only to have fail spectacularly in the end.

“Let’s start with what we know,” Christine said, breaking the tense silence. “We know he’s telekinetic. He might be able to control minds. He’s trying to distribute a drug that will make everybody compatible with his own powers, a newer version of the same drug that gave all of us our powers. The only proof we have of this is the fact we were all mind controlled at the play. And I’ve been telekinetically controlled, but we’ve never seen him control a civilian.”

“He didn’t mind-control me, though,” Jeremy said. “The best he could do was throw me around. I still had control over my mind.” 

“What if it’s just _you,_ then?” Jake spoke up quietly. “I mean, the only outlier between everything is Spiderman. Like, the play? We all got mind controlled, and _you didn’t._ On the bridge, Christine was controlled and _you_ weren’t. He clearly knows how to immunize himself against the Toxic Talkers, because he taught Jenna, but he couldn’t do that with Spiderman. It all leads back to _you,_ Jeremy. I’d be a little freaked out too if I thought I could control everybody and couldn’t control probably the most powerful hero on Earth.”

“I’m not-” Jeremy began, but Christine interrupted him.

“I think Jake is right,” she said. “If the Squip wants to take over the world, he needs to take over _everybody,_ and he’s planning to do that by giving everybody Mount Dew. He can’t have _Spiderman_ outside of his control. He’d need to eliminate you first.”

“Why can’t he control you, though?” Brooke asked. “What do you have that we don’t?”

“You tell me!” Jeremy said, exasperated. “None of this makes any sense!” 

“I think,” Christine murmured. Her eyebrows were drawn together, her gaze unfocused as she worked through something in her head. “I think it’s your anxiety, Jeremy." 

 _“What,”_ Jeremy sputtered. “My _anxiety_ makes me immune to the Squip’s mind-control?”

“No, listen to me,” she said, figuring it out. Her eyes lit up as she pieced it together. “Before the jungle juice, you just had normal anxiety, right? Like, I mean, super-bad anxiety, but nothing special?”

“I _guess?”_

 “And then after, you develop your spidey-sense, right? You always say you get this chill down your neck that alerts you to danger, right? It’s like the chemical makeup of your own body is always paying attention, making sure nothing in the world around you can hurt you, _right_?”

“Oh my God,” Brooke whispered. Chloe elbowed her in the stomach, and she shut up.  

“So,” Christine continued. “I think your normal anxiety just… morphed into super powerful anxiety that doesn’t trust the world around you? If your spidey-sense is to warn you of danger and prevent you from harm, it doesn’t _let_ the Squip control your mind. If he can only control us because we have powers, and if the only reason we have powers is because of the way our atoms interact with the world around us because of the jungle juice, or Mount Dew, or whatever, then he can’t control you because _your_ atoms are just too high-strung to obey his!”

“Great!” Jeremy grumbled, slumping back in Jake’s desk chair. “Even as a superhero, my anxiety still rules my life. Awesome.”

“No, this is good!” Christine insisted. “It means we know the new serum probably won’t give people powers. He can’t risk having another Spiderman on his hands.”

“But that also means he’s going to try and kill you before the vaccine gets released,” Jake said, and Jeremy flinched. “He needs you out of the way before he starts distributing on a global scale. So we just need to defeat him before then.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Jeremy asked, throwing his arms into the air. “Just stay hidden until the day of and then break into the UN and tackle him? In front of everyone? Oh yeah, great plan, Jake. I’ll get right on it.”

“We need to figure out his powers first,” Christine said. “We can’t figure out how to defeat him until we know exactly what he can do.”

“What if we used one of us as bait?” Brooke offered. “Like, we could lure him out and pretend to want to go with him for testing or whatever, just like Jenna did, and then just like, antagonize him into using his full powers. We could even try to take him down then, if we figure him out quickly enough? If we defeated him before the announcement, then we don’t need to break into the UN.”  

“I’m not using any of you as bait,” Jeremy said firmly. “You could get hurt. The second I show up he could use you guys against me. Or I can’t beat him, and he takes you with him anyway. Then he'll kill you, or use you to kill me,  _and_ he takes over the world.”  

“We need the info, bro. We need to see what his powers are,” Rich looked around the room and drummed his fingers on Jake’s window sill. “And if none of _us_ can do it, then there’s really only one other option, dude.”

“Accept defeat?” Jeremy muttered, hanging his head in his hands. Christine hovered over to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  

“No,” Rich said somberly. Jeremy looked up, eyebrows furrowed. “We make _you_ the bait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes! 
> 
> -chloe showing up late with an iced coffee is my aesthetic.  
> -it is.... so hard..... to write group scenes. do u know how many times i had to double check and make sure i wasn't forgetting anybody for pages on end?? so many. so. many.  
> -BBCOTAKU.TUMBLR.COM (Nich) DREW THE TOXIC TALKERS!!! Their design is a little different than mine but it's still SO INCREDIBLE and im in AWE and nobody has ever drawn something from my work before so im SCREAMING and i love it SO MUCH everybody go check it out [here <333](https://bbcotaku.tumblr.com/post/161693100877/the-toxic-talkers-im-not-the-best-artist-but#notes)  
> -comments are more lit than everybody at the halloween party.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the last chapter was hella slackin in boyf riends content so here have an abundance of it!!! as always, shoutout to @debusya.tumblr.com help me turn this from a Mess into something resembling good content!!!

Even at the end of the world, everything was exactly as it had always been.  

Jeremy was sitting in English class, listening to his teacher talk about the burning lake in Beowulf while most of his classmates had forgone paying attention in favor of screwing around on their laptops. The lights were off in the classroom so they could see the powerpoint projected on the whiteboard, but the lazy darkness combined with the pillowy May heat meant that nobody had the energy to pay attention. Those who were still awake were playing games on their computers, or watching the kids in gym play softball through the windows in the back of the room, or staring at the clock.  

Jeremy fell into the last group, except his added advantage of heightened senses meant that he not only had to watch it slowly creep along, but could hear every tick of the clock pounding in time with his heartbeat.

He was hours away from probable death, and all he could think about were loose ends.

His chemistry final was next week, and between his inevitable Talk with Michael, Operation Bait’s Heere, and the looming UN-Mount Dew press conference, Jeremy had zero time to study and a solid ninety-seven percent chance he was going to fail. What little time he even had to attempt to learn _anything_ was spent trying to evade the ever-present threat of a panic attack that always seemed present whenever he had a moment to himself. It wasn't every day that you woke up knowing that the day's agenda entailed getting the shit kicked out of you in as many different ways as possible. 

His dad was probably going to find out about his death from the news, after they had unmasked Jeremy’s corpse and asked the public to help identify him. Or maybe Jake or Christine would take pity on him, and tell him before the news had the chance. They’d probably show up at his house and tell him everything. His dad would probably cry. He’d be alone. First his wife, then his son.

He wondered if his dad would put on pants for his funeral.

Oh, _God._ His _funeral._ His own father would have to bury him and pick out a casket and clean out his room. He didn’t think the Squip would let him go easily enough for them to have an open-casket.

His _mother_ would probably show up. The cards she’d sent for his past three birthdays had been late, but she’d probably make it on time for the funeral, right? Not that he cared, or had been counting, or thinking about it, or _anything_. Because he didn’t. And he hadn’t been.  And he wouldn’t. 

 _Michael_ would be there, too. Michael wouldn’t have anybody to play multi with if Jeremy didn’t make it. He wouldn’t carpool with Jeremy, or show him a new song during their drive to school, or do spontaneous Dunkin runs, or anything anymore, because Jeremy would be _dead._ Michael would also be out of a job, because Spiderman wouldn’t be around anymore, either. Michael would find out what Jeremy had been hiding and hate him even though he wasn’t even alive anymore _to_ hate.

He’d think Jeremy hadn’t trusted him, or cared about him, or thought about telling him at all. He’d live his life believing that Jeremy thought nothing of him, even though Jeremy thought _everything_ of Michael Mell.

He wouldn’t get to see Michael smile again, wouldn’t get to play with his hair when they got high, or fall asleep in his bed again. His first and only kiss would be an attempt by his best friend to get him to stop hyperventilating. He was going to die a virgin. He was going to die and leave his dad alone, leave his friends alone, leave _Michael_ alone.

Jeremy wouldn’t get to kiss him again. Michael would go to college, probably, and forget about him altogether. Jeremy wouldn’t get to visit him at school, or FaceTime him during finals, or dorm with him or move in with him, or date him, or do anything he had only let himself think about when he was alone, at night, long after the rest of the world had gone to bed. He didn’t even know if he’d ever get to do any of it anyway, but now he would never get the chance to try. Because Jeremy was going to die.

And, in a matter of hours, the Squip was going to take over the world.  

Then, his teacher called on a kid who had been playing Tetris on his computer and asked him to explain the importance of Grendel’s arm and his mother’s decapitation, jolting Jeremy out of his building panic. Jeremy sat back in the uncomfortable metal chair and drummed his fingers on his desk, trying to steady his breathing.  

If Jeremy made it through tonight alive, he would tell Michael everything tomorrow.

 All he had to do was stay alive until then.

 

 

*             *            *

 

Lunch came far too quickly, and Jeremy found himself standing next to the door of the practice room, knowing Michael was just inside. Unless he had chosen to go out for lunch that day, or eat with the others, or skip school, or spontaneously join a lunchtime club, or do any of a million other things better than wait for Jeremy in the music wing.  

He toyed with the idea of telling him right then. But then Michael would either want to come with them tonight, or never speak to him again. He couldn’t fight the Squip while knowing that Michael was in danger, or knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see Michael again the next day. And if Jeremy was being selfish by holding it off until afterwards, then so be it. He figured he was allowed to be a little selfish in what was probably his final hours.

And if he _did_ die, well. Jeremy tried to look on the bright side. He’d already gotten good at avoiding consequences to his actions. Death was just the ultimate way to not have to deal with repercussions. He wouldn’t have to feel guilty about dying before he told Michael who he was if he was already dead. 

But for now, he was still alive, and probably looking like an idiot standing motionless outside the practice room. He still didn’t even know for sure if Michael was inside. He didn’t know if he wanted him to be or not.

Jeremy picked at the skin around his thumb and opened the door before he could talk himself out of it. He was greeted by the sound of Weezer coming from Michael’s laptop.

Michael himself was sitting on a metal filing cabinet with his legs crossed, his headphones around his neck and the loose wire tucked into his hoodie’s front pocket. He was absorbed in something on his laptop, and his tray of cafeteria chicken nuggets sat on top of the piano, untouched.

“Hey, man,” Michael said, glancing up and giving him a quick nod before returning to his laptop. “How was the Beowulf quiz?”  

Jeremy paused. Michael didn’t seem angry, or stressed, or nervous. The closest sign that Jeremy could find that indicated last night had happened at all was that Michael’s hadn’t gelled his hair, and instead was letting it lay across his forehead. But even that wasn’t terribly strange, because it happened at least twice a week, and it usually just meant that Michael had overslept and hadn’t had the time to do anything about it.

Tentatively, Jeremy took a seat on the piano bench next to the filing cabinet and said, “It was fine.”

“Really?” Michael didn’t break his gaze with his computer. “Jake said he got an eighty-five, which like, for him is practically failing.” 

“Well.” Jeremy tilted his head, considering. He was nervous, unsure what would set Michael off, afraid of saying the wrong thing. “It probably would’ve gone better if I had, y’know. Actually done the reading.”

Michael smirked, tossing a quick glance to Jeremy before returning to the screen. “Yeah. Probably would’ve helped.”

“You think?” Jeremy tread lightly. He had no idea if he even _wanted_ Michael to acknowledge something had happened. He eased into their normal banter as if Jeremy hadn’t sprinted out on him twelve hours ago after admitting his feelings. “Damn. Maybe I’ll try that next time instead of going with C for every other question.”

Michael snorted. “How’d that go for you?” 

“I _think_ I passed?” Jeremy tried, realizing Michael was letting him steer the conversation, which didn’t do anything to make him feel better. He didn’t even know how to bring it up. “I mean, he tells everything to a skull, right?”

“That’s _Hamlet,_ idiot,"Michael said, but his voice was warm.

“Oh,” Jeremy said, and shrugged a shoulder. “Well. You’ll probably be fine, then.”

“I didn’t read it either,” Michael admitted. “I tried to read the Sparknotes, but I, uh, couldn’t really concentrate.”

Jeremy froze, his heartbeat too fast and the clock too loud. “Yeah?”

Michael’s fingers stilled on his computer keys. He looked up at Jeremy, his gaze schooled blank. “Yeah. I had some other things on my mind last night.”

Jeremy gnawed on his lip and stared at his hands, which were fiddling in his lap. This was Michael pressing, offering the branch in case Jeremy wanted to take it.

“Me too.” He took a shaky breath and took it. Guess this was happening. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Michael stiffened, then started speaking as if he had been waiting for Jeremy to give him permission. “I mean. We could. If you want. But, uh-”

“We-”  

“No, I know you want- let me finish, okay?”

Michael twisted so he was sitting side by side with Jeremy, instead of staring at his profile. He pressed his thigh against Jeremy’s and let his other leg bounce nervously on the tile floor. “After you freaked the fuck out and left last night, and kind of also since when you got beaten up and- well. I kind of realized. That. I’d really rather have you in my life and not tell me everything than me try and force you to tell me everything and you _not_ be in my life?” He paused. “Let me know if I’m not making any sense.”  

Jeremy was quiet. “You are. It does. Make sense, I mean.” 

“Uh, okay. Good.” Michael nodded, as if to reassure himself. Jeremy watched him, his heart aching when Michael’s ears turned red. “Yeah. I just mean, like. I wasn’t kidding last night. When I kissed you. And I really hope you weren’t joking when you said you wanted to do it again. Because I do too.”

“I did mean it,” Jeremy said quietly. “I do.”

Michael gave him a soft, uneasy smile, then schooled his expression into one of determination. “Though I mean, you’re my best friend and that comes before anything else, okay? Like. Even if it doesn’t work out, or you decide you don’t like me like that, or _whatever-"_

"I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen," Jeremy breathed. 

"-I’m still your best friend, okay? I’m in it ‘til the bitter end, buddy, alright? You’re stuck with me.” Michael tapped his fingers on his thigh. “But. I do, uh, want to kiss you? And stuff. I just worry. Like, all the time. And I mean, I already think about you a lot- _shut_ up, I know, I know- but after last night, it was like. ”

Michael trailed off. Jeremy swallowed, but his mouth was dry. “Like what?”

The Weezer album faded into a [ song Jeremy didn’t recognize. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ksk52QZ7Lkk) Michael nudged his glasses up his nose and they glinted in the fluorescent lights. Jeremy didn’t know which of them had leaned in, or when, but Michael was suddenly very close.

Jeremy’s mind raced, every worry and panic and threat screeching for attention, every clock-tick bringing him back to the beeping of the bomb on the bridge, every press of his heart against his ribcage a reminder of Michael’s fingers against the bandaging on his skin from two weeks ago. He couldn’t look _at_ Michael, but also couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Everything was so loud, so fast, begging for his time and worry, but Michael sat steady like a prayer only inches away. The harmonies of the song washed over him, adding to the noise but setting the rhythm his heart was beating to.

“Like that was it for me,” Michael said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyebrows were creased, the only indication that he was as nervous as Jeremy was.

“Yeah?” Jeremy breathed against the incessant pressure of the room and his mind. “Me too.”

“Huh.” The edges of Michael’s mouth curved into a smile, and a soft drumbeat rolled along in the song, moving the harmonies along. Michael’s nose brushed against Jeremy’s cheek, and the shorter boy tried to ignore his heart rocketing in his chest. Michael murmured, “How ‘bout that.”

Then, Michael’s let his forehead fall against Jeremy’s, and everything in Jeremy’s head went silent.

Jeremy couldn’t tell you which of them closed the distance first. They both did, or neither of them did, or one of them did and the other just followed blindly, just like they always did. He didn’t know who had initiated it, didn’t know which one of them made the final move and pressed their lips together, but he didn’t care. One second he was reveling in Michael’s breath against his cheek, and the next they were kissing. Gently and incredulously at first, like a dream, and then quietly firmer, melting into something heady and insistent that Jeremy prayed would never end.

He didn’t know when Michael had moved to sit on the piano bench with Jeremy, mirroring his position of straddling the bench. He didn’t know where Michael learned how to kiss like that, or if they were doing it right, or how long it had been since he had last breathed, but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was what he _did_ know. He knew that, for the first time since the play, his head had gone silent. He knew the feeling of Michael’s knees knocking against his own, Michael’s hands on Jeremy’s thighs, his waist, his jaw. He knew the bite of Michael’s glasses against the bridge of his nose, the quiet keening noise that one of them was making, the fumbling of Michael’s hands against Jeremy’s skin.

What mattered were his own hands knotted in Michael’s sweatshirt, twisting in the fabric and pulling him closer, closer, closer, relishing in the sweet smell of his vanilla-scented body wash and the taste of the cherry coke he had had for lunch.

What mattered was Michael kissing him _back._

It was just the two of them and the soft movement of their mouths together. Everything Jeremy had spent the last six months freaking out about had gone silent in favor of the clear harmonies of the song still playing on Michael’s laptop. Their mouths opened and closed together in time with the crescendos of the vocals, their teeth clacking together in their desperate attempt to get closer to each other, as if they had just been given permission to touch.  

Jeremy broke away for air, his forehead knocking gently against Michael's. Jeremy let out a breathy laugh, audible only because of the brief pause in the music before the vocals swelled again, sweeping over them like starlight. Jeremy opened his eyes to see Michael staring at him, open and forgiving and trusting all at once, as the song rolled quietly to its end.

Michael pressed another slow kiss to the corner of Jeremy’s mouth, and Jeremy couldn’t help his grin.  

The moment shattered when somebody banged angrily on the door. Jeremy’s eyes moved to the window of the practice room door and immediately jerked away from Michael, falling off the piano bench, the daze from their kiss disappearing with Jeremy’s subsequent yelp.

It was the band teacher, her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. She waved a finger at them, shouting a warning through the semi-soundproofed door, and disappeared down the hall.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Jeremy muttered from the ground, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing up at his best friend. Michael looked down at him, his fingers curled around the edge of the bench he was still straddling, and for a second Jeremy thought he was going to start yelling at him again. Jeremy wouldn’t even be mad, he deserved it. Even _he_ could recognize how fucked up the signals he had been giving were.

Instead of yelling, however, Michael just started laughing.

It was loud and bright, a full-body laugh that had Michael swiping away tears from underneath his glasses. Jeremy watched in awe as it moved through Michael’s body, in shaking shoulders and tensing torso under his sweatshirt, and couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up from his own throat.

“Oh my _God,”_ Michael hiccuped when he could breathe again. “Your face when she came in-”

“It was terrifying!”

“I thought you were going to _pass out-”_

Jeremy grumbled and eased himself back onto the bench, once again mirroring Michael's positioning. He ducked his head and stared at his hands. “I cannot believe a _sixty year old woman_ caught us making out.”

“I think she’s sixty-five, actually,” Michael said, calming himself down. His voice was soft but still warm when he spoke again. “Wanna try again? Third time’s the charm, right?”

“No _way,”_ Jeremy fretted. “She could come back! What if she came _in?”_

Michael snickered. “Then she’d be in for a show.”

Jeremy bit back a smile and turned his head. “Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Uh- what?” Michael asked, all the humor falling out of his voice and concern lacing his tone.

“Like, for real, dude.”

“Of course I do. _Clearly._ Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation? And I wouldn’t have just made out with you in a goddamn _practice room?”_  

“Yeah. Definitely not how I thought today was gonna go,” Jeremy said, almost to himself. Then, louder, “Not that I'm complaining!"

Michael grinned and took Jeremy's hand in his own, holding it between them and running his thumb over Jeremy's knuckles. Jeremy stared, feeling his cheeks heating up. 

Jeremy kept his head down and said quietly, "I know I still owe you an explanation. Give me one more day, okay?”

“Jeremy-” 

“No, Michael, listen. I promise. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Just. One more day.”  

“There’s no rush, dude,” Michael said earnestly, gripping his hand tighter. “I meant what I said earlier. You’re stuck with me.”  

God, Jeremy didn’t deserve him. He probably only had about eight hours left to live, and here he was, making promises he wasn’t going to be able to keep solely because he needed Michael to know that Jeremy thought _everything_ of him, and that he was just doing this to keep him safe. He couldn’t have Michael thinking Jeremy had kissed him and then let himself be killed.

He just kept talking, trying to make Michael understand how much Jeremy trusted him, and needed him, and loved him. How much Jeremy _had_ wanted him to know, but couldn’t tell him until he knew Michael would be okay once he did.

“I know. But- it’s important. And I _want_ to tell you.  I really, really do. And you deserve to know. You out of _anyone_ deserves to know. I just. Need to figure out some things.”

Michael bit his lip and looked at him. “Are you going to do something incredibly stupid? Because it sounds like you’re gonna do something incredibly stupid.”  

“Me? Do something stupid?” Jeremy let out a short laugh, dropping his hand out of Michael's grip, and tried to shove aside thoughts of Michael at his funeral. "Who do you think I am, _Spiderman_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes: 
> 
> -lmao i referenced hamlet solely for the reference to the 'hey hamlet, be more chill' line.  
> -shoutout to beowulf for being the only book i can remember reading junior year besides like, the canterbury tales.  
> -michael took band freshman year. he played the trumpet. he stopped because it conflicted with music theory, and then stopped taking music theory because he Could Not For the Life Of Him Figure Out How To Play That Goddamned Piano. but he liked the vibe of the music wing, so on days when they don't wanna eat outside they'll eat in the music wing, and usually a practice room when they can get one bc Choir Kids are The Worst (trust me i was a choir kid i would know)  
> -the song is 'storm' by pink martini and the von trapps. if you can, please listen to it while u read the scene! i think it really does add to it and like, you can really tell what i mean when i say things like "swell of the vocals" or "roll of the drums" or w/e  
> -comments make me cry in the best way possible!!! feedback is the best! lmk ur favorite part!! lmk if any certain lines really got to u!!!! lmk what/who you want to see more of!! just say anything!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> firstly, tw for blood/vomit/graphic descriptions of injuries!
> 
> secondly, im so sorry this took so long!! this is kinda the point where i was like IDK WHERE I WANT THIS TO GO!!!! so i had to think long and hard about it. i also may or may not have planned out the rest of it (loosely. i have an idea of how many chapters it's gonna be). 
> 
> also, the day i was gonna write this i won the hamilton lottery lmao, which was fun.
> 
> as always, love to @debusya.tumblr.com for helping me work through every single goddamn possible ending of this fic. this is the longest chapter by a LOT. enjoy!!!

This was probably the stupidest thing Jeremy had ever done.

He was waiting for the Squip on the roof of Port Authority, his feet swinging over the edge while he watched the buzz of traffic below him. He was passing the time by talking to the others through Michael’s headphones, which he had borrowed earlier in the day, but only after Michael had laughed and said, “Oh, is _that_ why you kissed me? To get to my sweet Beats?”, while Jeremy only blushed and said, “You know that it’s not,” as he laced his fingers through Michael’s and swung their hands between them.

The aforementioned sweet Beats were currently sitting on his neck over the Spiderman suit, with the volume on his phone turned all the way up so he could hear the rest of the crew on the other end. It was their best attempt at communicating during the battle without risking mind control on their parts, and Jeremy liked the fact he had a little bit of Michael with him. Not that he would ever admit it.

Now all they had to do was wait for the Squip to show up. Chloe had taken a selfie of her with Spiderman and posted it to every social media site she had, tagging the planned location in each one. Hopefully, Jenna would see it and let the Squip know, and the plan would go from there.

The Plan, (which Jeremy nervously referred to as Operation Please Don’t Let Me Die, while Jake and Rich not-so-encouragingly called Operation Heere Comes Trouble), was to use himself to bait the Squip, and then antagonize him in as many ways as Jeremy could in order to get the villain to use the full stretch of his powers. They already knew he had telekinesis and could mind control (mostly) anybody with altered genetics, but they just needed to be sure he didn’t have any other tricks up his sleeve before they enacted part two of The Worst Plan Ever, where they would confront him at the UN meeting. 

The _un_ official plan was to annoy the Squip into beating the shit out of Jeremy in as many different ways as possible. The hope was that Jeremy could avoid most of his attacks as long as he got the Squip to use his powers. The _reality_ was that he hadn’t been terribly successful with that same tactic literally every other time they had fought.

They may be powerful, but they sure as hell weren’t smart.

“Hey, Jeremy,” Chloe said from the headphones, her voice small and tinny over the noise of the New York traffic. “Your boyfriend commented seventeen times on my selfie of me and Spidey. Like, I knew he was obsessed, but this is something else.”

Rich chimed in, “I’m seeing it too. I think he’s about to bust a nut.”

Jeremy’s stomach flipped as he tried not to think about Michael in that particular situation. “Um, can we not talk about Michael busting, uh, _anything,_ right now? Please? I’d really rather have that _not_ be the last thing I ever talk about.”

“You are not going to die!” Christine insisted, but Rich was cackling over her voice.

“Dunno man, seems like a good last meal to me,” Rich sniggered, then inhaled sharply and cursed. “Ow, Christine! What the hell, did you just _smack_ me? C’mon, I practically _got them together_ with the whole backpack thing- _ow,_ okay! I get it!”

“Michael and I aren’t dating,” Jeremy tried, because he didn’t want to assume anything before they talked about it, but he could still hear someone snickering on the other end.

Chloe hummed and said, “Okay, well, your makeout-at-lunch-and-hold-hands-in-the-senior-lot-buddy-with-benefits just commented for the _nineteenth_ time, and- oh! Jeremy, I didn’t know you told Michael you were Spiderman?”

Jeremy’s blood ran cold. 

“I didn’t,” he said slowly. “Chloe- what? What did he say?”

“He just texted me a selfie of him with Spiderman. Are you- are you guys on a roof? What? When did _that_ happen?”

“I-” Jeremy began, but just then was seized with blinding pain as his arms were twisted behind his body, his wrists pressing against each other. His sentence was cut off by a grunt of pain. Distantly, he heard Christine’s concerned voice asking if he was okay.

The Squip announced his arrival by pushing Jeremy off the ledge of Port Authority and holding him in the air above the street. Jeremy twisted, his shoulders straining as he tried to free his hands from behind his back, his body held in place by the same invisible ties that had bound him to the George Washington Bridge a few weeks ago.

In the same battle that nearly got Jeremy killed.

And resulted in severe damage to his ribs and face.

And almost cost him his best friend.

This was a terrible plan.

“This is a terrible plan,” Jeremy hissed into the headphones, while everybody on the other end clamored to know what was going on. 

“We meet again!” the Squip called, hovering in the air above the roof with his heels pressed together and his arms spread as if he were presenting something. “This time, I will end you once and for all.”

“Long time, no see!” Jeremy called, hoping his voice didn’t betray how actually fucking _terrified_ he was. The street seemed very far below him, and with his hands quite literally held behind his back there was nothing stopping him from direct impact. The light from the ads plastered to the walls of Port Authority flickered on the Squip’s face, which had once again been transformed from powerful Japanese CEO into blue-toned asshole. “You gonna try and kill me again? Third time’s the charm, right?”

The Squip sneered, and promptly dropped Jeremy from the sky.

He plummeted to the ground and landed hard on his shoulder, directly on the front hood of a yellow taxi cab, Jeremy’s collarbone crushing under the impact. The metal crumpled beneath him as the car slammed to a stop, and Jeremy groaned, rolling over and staring up at the lights that were swimming into refocus above him. The driver laid on his horn and rolled down his window, cursing loudly in shock and anger while also asking if Spiderman was okay. 

Horns blared around them, and the cabbie just turned and gave them a finger, shouting, “Fuckin’ _Spiderman’s_ on my car! Show some goddamn _respect!_ This is New York, not fuckin’ _Jersey!”_

Jeremy, vaguely offended at the Jersey comment, rolled off the cab and fell onto the street, praying that he wouldn’t get run over. He wrenched himself to his hands and knees, wheezing, trying to recover the air that had just been knocked out of him.

The cabbie came over to him and offered a hand. Jeremy took it, grateful, and hoisted himself up. Blinding pain shot through his chest with every movement in his upper body.

“Sorry about your cab,” Jeremy gasped as he straightened his back, still trying to find air through the anguish in his broken collarbone. The cab shook his head and turned to inspect the damage, and Jeremy took his chance. He stumbled back towards Port Authority, dodging cars that were crawling through the city’s traffic. He dashed under the steel awning before the Squip could telekinetically throw him again, and pushed through both sets of double doors, sending out out a web that yanked him into the air once he was safely inside. He bit back a groan as his collarbone shifted under the sudden movement, and gritted his teeth as he moved through the air.  

He sailed through and above the crowds of people, arching his back inwards and throwing his feet up behind him so he didn’t accidentally kick anybody in the head. Shops flew past him, the colors of each Dunkin and Duane Reade and Subway logo blurring as he soared by.

He dropped to the ground, thinking he’d make himself less of a target if he ran among the people. However, as soon as his feet touched the tile floor, he nearly tumbled right into an Auntie Anne’s employee, who was holding a lemonade and a soft pretzel, looking like he had seen better days.

Jeremy would’ve ran through him, but managed to stop in his tracks at the last second and throw his arms out in an attempt to remain balanced.

“Dude,” the employee said, holding his drink and pretzel closer to his chest, annoyed. “Careful. I don’t get these for free, y’know.”

“Sorry, just trying not to die here!” Jeremy cried, sidestepping the irritated teenager and sprinting further into the building. He had no idea where the Squip was. His Spidey senses were silent, but the station buzzed with activity around him. There were hundreds of people rushing through the halls, and most of them were staring at the boy in the blue-and-red spandex suit that was sprinting through the masses. Some had their phones out, snapping pictures or taking videos, and others were raising their voices in alarm, looking anxiously for what he was running from.

He sprinted into the main room and ceiling opened up above him, allowing him to send out another web that brought him to the upper level. It was less crowded in here, but there was still no sign of the Squip.

He landed on a metal ceiling support beam and looked around, trying to find the Squip in the mass of people. Dozens of strangers were staring at him, while others broke into runs, trying to escape whatever Spiderman was so afraid of. 

“Jeremy,” Chloe spoke up in his ear. Jeremy was surprised that the phone in his leg pocket had survived the fall, and that the call was still connected. “What’s going on. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jeremy said, heart beating rapidly as he scanned the room. “He threw me off the roof, but I’m okay.”

“He threw you off the roof?” Jake asked, concerned. “You sure you’re good, dude?”

“Well, more like a harsh drop,” Jeremy explained. He slowly stood up, gripping the vertical beam next to him with one hand and bending his knees in preparation to jump, just in case.  “I’m in Port Authority right now, like, in the main room on the upper level. I can’t find him. I don’t know where he is. I’m gonna die, he’s gonna kill me, there’s so many people here-”

“Wasn’t the whole point of doing this so late and at Port Authority was so nobody would be there to get hurt?” Jake interrupted.

“We’re _idiots_ ,” Jeremy said. “I mean, I thought that was obvious given that our best plan was _‘hey, lets see how badly Jeremy can get hurt by his arch nemesis without dying!’”_

“At least you _have_ an arch nemesis,” Rich complained. “Also, nobody will care if you blow up Port Authority. It’s a shithole anyway, you’d be doing the world a favor.”

“Rich!” Christine protested. “We are _not_ going to blow up Port Authority!” 

“He’s not wrong,” Brooke offered. “It _is_ pretty awful.”

“Now is not the time to discuss the moral high-grounds in destroying Port Authority!” Jeremy hissed. “And did you guys not catch the part where I mentioned getting hurt? Very badly? While you just sit there and listen?”

“You’re right, we should have FaceTimed you instead,” Chloe sighed, and Jeremy made a screeching noise into the headphones.

 _You’re not going to destroy Port Authority,_ a computerized voice spoke through the headphones, and everybody went silent. _I am going to destroy you._

Jeremy’s whirled around and locked eyes with the Squip, who was hovering right behind him. He looked amused, as if Jeremy was a minor inconvenience and not the only obstacle between him and world domination.

Jeremy’s fist lashed out, on instinct, clocking the Squip right in the nose before either of them could think about it. Blood gushed from his nose, and The Squip slowly raised a hand and pressed it against it, staring at the blood that came away.

His lip curled in disgust, and Jeremy’s eyes widened, surprised as the Squip was. Was his first and only hit against the Squip a _punch to the nose?_

“You’re _done,”_ The Squip growled, pulling his hand backwards, as if to strike.

Jeremy lunged at him, but the Squip thrust out his hand and Jeremy froze in mid-air, his half-shooten web stuck hanging in the air between them. A terrible high-pitched whine wailed through the headphones and silenced the group’s voices, and Jeremy’s phone burned red-hot in his pocket through his suit. He gasped, but was unable to do anything against the rapidly heating machine as the Squip held him in place.  

The same high-pitched scream that was coming through Michael’s now-ruined headphones suddenly burst through every speaker in Port Authority. The LCD schedule screens and electronic info boards went wild, the times for buses and the different advertisements being replaced by rapidly changing numbers and code while the backlight flickered. The fluorescent lights in the building dimmed and brightened sporadically, and Jeremy smelled smoke and gasoline as the kitchen controls of the various restaurants failed.

This asshole had mind control, telekinesis, and now _technokinesis,_ while Jeremy was stuck with his stupid _bug powers._ He wondered if the universe would ever consider him worthy enough of cutting him the slightest bit of slack. 

The people who had been staring at the interaction joined those who were screaming, and mayhem broke out below them as people scrambled to get out of the doomed building. Jeremy strained against the Squip’s control, unable to move.

“I could snap your neck right now,” The Squip informed Jeremy. “In fact, I _should_ snap your neck.”

Jeremy gritted his teeth and channeled his inner Rich, trying to piss the Squip off as much as possible to see if he had any other tricks up his sleeve. “Do it. You won’t.”

The Squip growled and threw him to the ground. The tile ground shattered beneath his back, and Jeremy found the wind sucked out of him for the second time that night. His fingers scrabbled at the broken bits of slate as he tried to heave himself up, choking on air, but then the Squip was standing over him and pinning him telepathically to the ground.

“You think I won’t?” The Squip scoffed, lifting out another hand. He hurled Jeremy through a doorway, sending him crashing through a glass barrier towards the first floor. The handrail that the barrier had been supporting fell to the ground twenty feet below them. Jeremy barely had time to send out a web and swing himself up, landing hard on the second floor and trying to run, before the Squip took control over him again. He raised him up mid-run, freezing his feet in motion, then sent him crashing headfirst through an information board, which splintered under his skull.

The impact with the sign sent his teeth plunging into his tongue, and Jeremy immediately tasted blood. He fell to the ground, sending his hands out to break the fall and curling into a somersault that he turned into a crouch.

The Squip hovered in, his arms crossed. His skin seemed to pulse with unused energy. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Jeremy, on the other hand, spit out the blood that was pooling in his mouth. His back was bleeding and bruised from being thrown onto the car and the tiling, and he had shards of glass stuck in his knees. His head rattled from colliding with the sign and he had to concentrate in order to focus the image of the Squip in front of him. He was in pain, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before. He could keep going. He just needed to find out more, needed some information from the Squip that would make this whole battle worth it.

“I know what you’re going to do!’ Jeremy called across the room, sucking in air between breaths. “I know all about Mount Dew how you can’t mind control people without it! I’m going to stop you!”

“Oh, _are_ you?” The Squip started laughing. It sent goosebumps scattering along Jeremy’s skin. “So you know that it’s already been distributed? That you’re too late?" 

Jeremy did not know that. Out loud, however, he said, “What, you thought I _didn’t?”_

The Squip growled in fury and threw out his hands, sending Jeremy flying into an escalator. The sharp metal scraped through the back of his suit and his head smacked backwards against the edge of a stair, sending stars scattering through his vision. 

He gasped in pain, everything around him going fuzzy, and twisted onto his stomach to stumble up the moving stairs while his hand pressed against his bleeding spine. His stomach lurched with the sudden movement, and he suddenly couldn’t piece any of his thoughts together.

Jeremy sent a panicked look over his shoulder and saw the Squip moving through the air towards him, motionless other than the twisting fury on his face.

Jeremy ran blindly out into the late spring air, the constant wind of the city drying the sweat and blood against his skin. He was in the covered parking lot, where the buses came in from the Lincoln Tunnel. A NJ Transit bus was just pulling in, followed by a train of others just like it coming over the bridge that brought them into the station.

He looked around for an escape, the world spinning around him, and cursed when he realized that the open walls of the loading lot were netted to prevent anything from coming in or out. He raced to the edge and peered through the netting down onto 42nd street, where clueless civilians were crossing the street, unaware of the disaster that was about to occur forty feet above their heads. 

His head felt like the Big Bang, a mess of thoughts and pain swirling around that he had no hope of making sense of. His eyes wouldn’t focus and his stomach churned, a blinding pressure screaming against the confines of his skull. He pressed his already bloody hand to the back of his scalp, and it came away even redder.

Jeremy swallowed dryly. This was probably a concussion, or brain damage, which was great considering he’d only been facing the Squip for approximately ten minutes. Nerves clawed up his throat, and Jeremy tried not to think about what would happen if he wasn’t able to make it out alive.

 _“Spiderman!”_ The Squip roared, and Jeremy whirled around just in time to see one of the NJ Transit buses come hurtling through the air straight for Jeremy’s head.

Jeremy yelped and ducked, and the bus went flying over his head, close enough to brush against Jeremy’s hair. It went right through the protective netting, crashing through the wall and plummeting towards the ground below.

 _“No!”_ Jeremy rocketed towards the edge, not thinking at all when he sent a web flying to catch it before it crushed the civilians on the street. He lifted a foot and braced it against the concrete barrier as the web went taut.  

A groan was pulled from Jeremy’s throat as his whole body was yanked forward, his head snapping at the sudden weight. He felt his already torn suit splitting as his back stretched, trying to pull the bus back up to the parking lot. His free foot scuttled towards the edge, threatening to drop the bus onto the people below. Desperately, Jeremy propped his other foot on the wall so his body was horizontal to the parking lot ground, and began to pull.

It was the heaviest thing Jeremy had ever carried, impossibly heavier than the suspension cable that had held Christine. People screamed beneath him and he heard sirens a few blocks away. He didn’t know where the Squip was. He could come back at any minute. Distantly, he heard a high-pitched whine, and it took a moment for Jeremy to register that it was _him._

His head was reeling and the world spun around him, his already bruised chest and back being stretched further than he could handle. His legs strained against the wall under the weight of the bus as he ever-so-slowly pulled it back up. He couldn’t let these people die.

And then Michael’s ruined headphones tightened around Jeremy’s throat, cutting off his air supply. He choked, sputtering and gasping for air, but to no avail. This was bad. Jeremy was going to die. His lungs heaved for air that wouldn’t come.

Black spots swam in his vision and he felt vomit sliding in his stomach, but there was nowhere for him to throw up, as his throat was being constricted by the Squip’s makeshift noose. The sound of the sirens faded in and out as his already muddled brain was denied oxygen. His lungs burned. His arms trembled. The web shook under the pressure of the bus. The very sinews of his muscles felt like they were splitting apart.

Jeremy focused on each pull. One hand in front of the other. Left hand. Right hand. Left. Right.

His foot slipped. He caught himself on instinct. Tears and blood soaked through Jeremy’s mask. He couldn’t feel his fingers against the web. He no longer had feeling in his toes digging into the concrete wall. Left hand. Right hand. Left. Right.

The headphones wrapped even tighter around his neck, the earpieces overlapping and pushing onto his Adam’s apple. The wire that had been connected to his phone wrapped around his torso. He felt it against the skin on his back through the ripped fabric of his suit. 

The bus was ten feet from the parking lot. Left hand. Right hand. Jeremy’s mind rushed with every panic that he didn’t have the energy to put into words.

His friends were going to have to attend his funeral. He’d failed them. The Squip would win. He would never get to tell Michael. _Michael._ Michael.

His mind latched onto the name, repeating it like a brace as Jeremy hauled the bus up pull by pull. It was just underneath him, caught against the concrete, unable to fit back through the same puzzle-piece like hole it had created.

The headphones cut off his air entirely.

Jeremy clenched his stomach and released his last bit of air in a wrecked scream as he let one of his hands go, holding the bus with only his left hand while his right sent out a web to the ceiling. His time was up. His fingers weren’t bending when he wanted him too. His feet were numb. It was like his mind was no longer connected to his limbs.

He attached the ceiling web to the bus and then repeated the process. The world tilted around him, and Jeremy felt the vomit sit in his throat, unable to escape.

He connected a third and final web to the bus before his hands stopped obeying him entirely. The web connected him to the bus snapped, sending Jeremy falling three feet to the ground.

The sudden impact snapped the already-taut headphones, and the black spots faded.

Jeremy wheezed, gulping in air as he rolled onto his side, curling into a ball. His lungs still ached angrily and he _felt_ his veins expanding in his wrists at the sudden rush of oxygen.

The world wouldn’t stop spinning. Jeremy retched, throwing up everything that had been caught in his throat. The acid burned in his mouth, stinging his bitten and bleeding tongue, and caught in his suit, drenching his chin and neck. His vision swam in and out of focus, just enough to see the bus suspended in the air just outside of the parking garage. It hung like a Halloween decoration on the side of Port Authority, except Jeremy could see the dozens of people screaming inside, could see the terror written plain across their faces.

The Squip was suddenly very close to him. He mentally lifted Jeremy up again and held him in a standing position. His limbs were stretched out again, his back uncurled, his eyes forced open underneath his suit against the bright light that send rockets bursting in Jeremy’s head. He cried grossly in between his frantic gasps,  trying and failing to consume all the air he had lost, unable to speak with his ruined throat.

“Well, Spiderman.” The Squip held him like a puppet mere inches away from his face. Electricity ran like circuits underneath his blue-toned skin. “It appears I win again. Is this your way of saying you won’t, pardon the pun, _stand_ for this?” 

He laughed and dropped Jeremy to his feet, but Jeremy couldn’t stand. He fell to his knees, his hands twitching weakly as he caught himself, before his elbows gave out and he fell face-first against the gravel, his vision blacking out for a moment as his broken collarbone hit the ground. His body was shaking, his limbs convulsing as Jeremy struggled to keep breathing.

“I don’t know what plan you _thought_ you had,” The Squip jerked his head and Jeremy felt his arm snap backwards at the elbow, sending another wave of nausea and agony rolling through his body. He screamed, and the Squip just smirked. He knelt down to Jeremy’s level on the ground and whispered in his ear, “But I’ve already won. I gave you your chance to be on the winning side, and you gave it up.”

Jeremy’s arm was white with pain.

The Squip continued, “The serum has already been shipped out. The press conference is just a formality. Soon everybody will have ingested it. I’ll be able to control them _all.”_ He stood up, brushing gravel off his knees. Aside from his nose, Jeremy hadn’t managed to _touch_ him, he looked like he had just gone for a walk, and not a battle that still might end up with Jeremy in a casket. “And it’s only a matter of time before I can control _you,_ too.”

With that, the Squip walked over to where the bus was hanging precariously from the wall, attached to the ceiling solely from the three webs Jeremy had managed. Red and blue lights reflected in the tinted windows as the police cars made their way through city traffic.

“You can’t stop me,” Jeremy wheezed, his voice cracking. He tried to sit up, tried to move, but couldn’t. “I’m- immune. T-to. Your mind control.”

“For now,” The Squip admitted, then steeled his stone. “But you’re only one dose of Mount Dew away from being _just like everybody else_. And you’re not immune to pain.”

He lifted his hands to face Jeremy’s webs.

Jeremy let out a broken noise, his arms shaking, trying, trying, trying to heave himself up, to crawl over, to _stop him, “N-no,_ please, they didn’t- they didn’t _do_ anything- _please._ ”

The Squip flicked his wrists. The webs snapped.

The bus plummeted to the ground. Jeremy could hear the shrieks of the people inside, fading as they fell. He could hear the panicked shouts of the people of the street down below, the angry honks of the cars. 

Crash.

Sirens. Car alarms. Screaming. Honking. Sobbing. Jeremy retched again, but only bile stained his throat. 

 _“No,”_ Jeremy whimpered, a plea to the ground. His head fell against the gravel, his broken right arm useless, his left forearm and torso tensing as he tried to sit up, but he couldn’t- he _couldn’t-_

“You can try and stop me, Spiderman,” the Squip said, and Jeremy looked up, his vision blurry and his head still little more than putty. “But remember, _you can never win._ You’re _pitiful.”_

With that, the Squip climbed onto the broken edge of the parking lot. He pressed the back of his hand lightly to his nose, which was bruising and crusted in blood. He sent a final sneer at Jeremy and gracefully leapt off the wall, hovering in the air for a heartbeat before disappearing down the block.

Jeremy’s trembling arm gave out and he collapsed, groaning as he rolled onto his back, his broken arm and collarbone crying out in protest with the movement. The emergency lights of Port Authority blinked above him.

And then-

 _“Christine?”_ he gasped, trying to sit up and keening in pain when he couldn’t. He was half-convinced he was hallucinating, that she had come to him in his final moments to lead him to whatever came next. She was hovering above him, her hair pulled back from her face in a variety of multicolored snap clips. Her eyes flickered across his body from behind her black mask, and she gently raised his mask from his face. She stared at his right arm, which was bent the wrong way, and he sucked in air that didn’t taste like vomit, grateful. “You- you came.”

“I flew over the second you got disconnected,” Christine said. Her fingers skated down his body like a feather, checking for injuries. Her hands pressed against his collarbone and he gasped, his back arching in pain, which only sent a _fresh_ wave of anguish pounding through him, and he collapsed back onto the ground. Christine said, very quietly, “Oh, _Jeremy_ _._ ”

“M’gonna die,” Jeremy whined, a sob breaking free from his throat. “I don’t wanna. Don’t wanna die, Chris.”

“Jeremy, you need to listen to me, can you do that?” Her voice sounded strained, and she rolled up her sleeves as she spoke. Jeremy nodded, and keened as his body convulsed on the ground again. “Okay, Jeremy- _Jeremy,_ stay with me. I’m going to carry you home, okay? You need to hold on. Okay? You can’t pass out. You’re bleeding but- it’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be okay. Just hold on.”

Jeremy nodded again. His throat felt tight. Was he crying? When did that happen? Christine slipped her hands underneath Jeremy’s armpits and hoisted him up, her chin resting in the crook of his neck.

The parking garage spun around him and Jeremy immediately heaved again. Bile and bloody saliva caught in his mask.

Christine held him by his underarms and leapt into the air. She staggered, trying to find her balance, then they soared out the same hole from the bus that the Squip had just disappeared from.

Christine’s hands hurt against his skin. His mouth tasted like acid and blood. He kept hearing the screams of the people in the bus, over and over again, muted through the glass.

Jeremy’s head hung limp and he stared at the ground as Christine dragged him over it through the air. 

The wreckage was clouded in smoke and spray from hoses trying to put out the fire. There was so much red-tinted glass. He saw people laying limp among the remains of the bus. Unmoving. Dead.

Jeremy whined in the back of his throat, body going limp with shock. Christine just squeezed his underarms and started talking, drawing his attention away.

“Don’t look, it’s not your fault Jeremy, it’s not your fault. You have to stay awake. Don’t pass out. No- _don’t_ close your eyes, I swear to _God,_ Jeremy you aren’t going to fucking _die.”_

It must be bad, then. Christine never cursed, unless it was tech week. Or she was scared. Or something equally earth-shattering.

The pain, which had felt so bad before, had faded into fuzz. It felt distant. Like a problem for another time. He just felt tired. His arm hung useless at his side, but it had mostly gone numb, too.

His head still hurt, though. That wasn’t going away. He wanted it to.

They skimmed over the Hudson, the spray from the water soaking Jeremy’s legs. He felt so heavy. His eyes slipped close, the unchanging view of the water rushing below lulling him to sleep.

 _“Jeremy,”_ Christine said, her voice a little too high. “Nope. C’mon. Stay with me. Talk to me. Uh- um. Tell me about Michael.”

“Michael…” Jeremy murmured. He missed him. He wanted to burrow into Michael’s chest and go to sleep.

“Uh-huh, that’s great. You can’t go to bed yet, though,” Christine called over the noise of the wind rushing in their ears. “Tell me more.”

He hadn’t realized he had said all that aloud.

“Gotta tell him,” Jeremy managed. “You gotta. I didn’t.”

“Tell him what, Jeremy? C’mon, we’re almost there. Keep talking.”

“Love him,” Jeremy said, hanging like a ragdoll in Christine’s steely grip. It was a miracle she hadn’t dropped him yet. The New Jersey skyline raced closer to them, an imposing cliffside that they soared effortlessly over. “Michael.”

“You can tell him yourself,” Christine said, trying to keep her voice light. Jeremy was so tired. “He’ll be so happy, Jeremy. You know how much he loves Spiderman, you gotta tell him yourself. You make him so happy, Jeremy. That boy loves you so, so much. Don’t leave him alone. Don’t leave us alone. _Please._ ”

“M’sorry,” Jeremy said weakly. The ground was racing underneath them, blurry. He didn’t know she could fly this fast. Then he realized the ground might have looked blurry because his head wasn’t working. He had no idea how long they had been flying. “S’all my fault.”

“Jeremy, _no._ It’s not your fault. Um- um- um- tell me about what you learned from the Squip! I’m sure you got so much out of this, this plan was so worth it, yeah?”

They were above the 9W now. Close to home. He didn’t know where they were going. There were cars beneath them but they didn’t seem to be moving.

“Where’re we goin’?” Jeremy slurred. His tongue had decided to stop working. That was new.

“Almost there. Two more minutes. Just a little longer, Jeremy, okay?” Christine pleaded. “Please don’t die. Please-!”

Jeremy realized with a start that the cars _were_ moving, and that they only seemed stationary because Christine was flying just as fast as them.

“So fast,” Jeremy said. “You are. I mean.”

Christine laughed, slightly hysterical. “Yup. I practice. We should race sometime, yeah? You up for that?”

Jeremy didn’t say anything in response. The wind bit at his skin like a whip against the wet suit and through the torn spandex. He couldn’t remember why he wasn’t allowed to sleep, so he let his eyes droop shut.

Christine shifted him in her grip and he blinked his eyes open again. Head injury. Sleeping was bad. Right.

They were in Jeremy’s neighborhood now, then they were on Jeremy’s street, and then Christine was easing him through Jeremy’s open window.

She lowered him gently onto his bedroom floor. It was too hot in the room and his skin felt too tight on his body, but that might have been his suit. His body felt like it was sinking into the plush carpet while the world went dizzy around him. Or was it him that was dizzy?

The rest of the group was in his room. They were all silent until Christine took her place on the floor, and then they started talking rapidly around him. Too quickly for Jeremy to process.

“Jeremy, buddy, how are you?” That was Rich. He sounded tense. That wasn’t right. Rich didn’t get scared. He just made jokes.

“M’head hurts,” Jeremy groaned, his fingers twisting in the rug. He tasted copper as gravity shifted around him and blood trickled into his mouth. His eyes closed, but he kept talking, not even paying attention to what he was saying. “I broke Michael’s headphones. He’s gonna kill me. I’m the worst. I ruined everything! I killed all those people! I let them die!” 

“He’s definitely got a head injury, and I think he’s got some broken bones,” Christine said quickly. “There’s more, but I’m really worried about the head injury. He keeps wanting to fall asleep.”

Voices carried on above him, but they were talking so fast he couldn’t discern who was speaking. Everything was melting together.

“Where’s his _dad?”_

“Jeremy said he had a case in Yonkers, right? He’s staying overnight-” 

“That’s convenient. You know what’s not? The fact that _none of us_ got _healing_ powers-”

“Rich, shut _up-_ he’s going to die unless we _do something-”_

“He needs a hospital, you guys-”

“We can’t bring _Spiderman_ into the hospital! We’ll be _done_ for-”

“Well, we can’t _move_ him to take it off, his neck-”

“You literally flew him over here, Christine!”

Someone slapped his face gently, and Jeremy’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t realized he had closed them. Chloe’s face appeared over him. “Jeremy, we’re gonna cut you out of the suit, okay?”  

“Okay,” A laugh bubbled up from Jeremy’s throat. “He broke my headphones. Michael’s headphones. He choked me with them. Also-” he hiccuped, and gasped as his torso tightened when he did. “Also. He’s. Technology. Techno- tech-”

“Technokinetic,” Jake supplied. Someone was pressing something cold and hard against his chest, and then started moving it down. He realized they were  cutting his suit open, because suddenly fresh air spread against the skin of his chest. Jeremy nodded, his hair matting in the carpet, probably, along with the blood.

“Mhm,” Jeremy agreed. “He strangled me. I’m sorry. I couldn’t- I let those people- those _people-”_

“Shh, Jeremy, everything’s fine,” Christine comforted, her hands carding gently through his hair. Her face was upside-down in Jeremy’s field of vision, and she was looking straight ahead at whoever was cutting off his suit.

He dragged his gaze downward and saw Brooke with the scissors, slicing away his suit, her tongue poking through her teeth. The metal from the blade brushed against an open wound, and Jeremy turned his head and cried out. Every sensation on his skin hurt. His heightened senses, combined with his head injury, combined with the shock of the battle, amplified everything he was feeling. The lights were unbearably bright. He felt blood drip down his skin. His broken arm and battered ribs were throbbing. Everyone’s voices thundered in his ears. His own crying was too loud. The taste of copper wouldn’t leave his mouth. His _teeth_ ached.

Far, far, away, Jeremy registered the sound of his front door opening. Everybody else must have heard it too, because Christine and Jake’s heads snapped towards Jeremy’s bedroom door.

“Keep cutting. We need to get him to the hospital as soon as we can,” Jake instructed, and got up to see who it was. Brooke pushed the scissors down farther, and Jeremy let out a wail as the blade pressed into the burn marks from the headphone wires that had been wrapped around his chest and stomach.

“Sorry, sorry, Jeremy, I’m sorry, we’re almost there,” Brooke assured him, but Jeremy just clenched his teeth and made high and frantic gasping and crying noises through them.

Christine and Chloe exchanged rapid, frantic words above his head. Jeremy couldn’t hear what was going on downstairs, but he heard the tone of Jake’s voice, terrified, talking to somebody else. He didn’t know who it was. Jake never sounded terrified. This was a night of firsts.

Then, Jeremy started coughing, which meant his right arm moved against the floor, and he heaved, his mouth falling open while he cried even louder, and he didn’t care about who was downstairs anymore.

Until he heard somebody pounding up the stairs, his house shaking with the force, and Jeremy was suddenly very wary of who it was.

Christine and Chloe went silent, and the latter girl stood up and made her way to the door. Even Brooke froze, the scissors midway through cutting him out of the Spiderman suit.

Jake’s voice was shouting a warning, his own footsteps pounding right behind the first pair.  

 _“Don’t go in there-”_ he begged, but the other voice spoke over him.

“I have a _right_ to go into the room where I can hear my _best friend_ _screaming_ to death-!” Oh no. Jeremy _knew_ that voice, better than any voice in the world. “Seriously, Jake, what the-?”

The door swung open, and Jeremy came face to face with the boy he had kissed eight hours ago and now was about to die in front of.

“Hi, Michael,” Jeremy said weakly, then promptly turned his head to the side and threw up all over the carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES
> 
> 1) THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @chvvy.tumblr.com and @barofnothingham.tumblr.com for their AMAZING ART OF THIS FIC!!!! PLEASE go check it out [here](http://chvvy.tumblr.com/post/162060189623/jeremy-heere-aka-tried-boy-sweater-idea-from) [here](http://chvvy.tumblr.com/post/162061047263/toxic-talkers-from-danisnotofires-fanfic-no-such) [and here](http://barofnothingham.tumblr.com/post/161851242917/emerges-from-the-dead-after-not-posting-art-for)  
> 2) port authority is really gross and terrible. but yeah i've been to port authority a whole bunch and i promise u the way their movement works during this battle is actually correct lmao i was in port authority 3 days before i wrote this <33  
> 3) the 9W is the highway in nj that will eventually take you to the GW bridge, and then into the city. it's a long stretch that goes for miles and takes you right to where i headcanon them to live in this (it's in north jersey, which is different than the book, but honestly fight me).  
> 4) can someone please give jeremy a break :(  
> 5) I FORGOT TO TELL U okay so i actually looked this up (#research) and a normal transit bus can weigh up to THIRTY THREE THOUSAND POUNDS. that weighs almost five times more than the heaviest thing jeremy has lifted thus far (christine in the suspension cable). just. just imagine that. he's strong but..... poor bb :(  
> 6) i have this weird tendency to switch to present tense when writing battle scenes/intense emotional scenes?? so if you see any of that nonsense happening well. i can't read suddenly. i don't know.  
> 7) anyway please comment!!! thank you so so so much for the reaction so far!! <333


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *writes out 13 page outline of this fic*  
> also me: *completely ignores it* 
> 
> anyway ya girl is back with 14 more pages of jeremy Suffering!! again, tw for extreme injuries!

After he finished puking all over his carpet, Jeremy realized his distraught crying was the only noise in the otherwise silent room.

Nobody was saying anything at all. Everybody else was frozen in place. Jeremy tilted his head towards the door and took in the situation, fighting another wave of nausea that threatened to send him into another round of vomit-induced hell all over again.

Brooke’s scissors were still pressing lightly against Jeremy’s skin, midway through cutting away the suit. Her jaw was clenched and she was looking down, her hair providing a curtain that hid her from Michael’s gaze. She did not move.

Chloe stood between Jeremy and Michael with one of her hands out, as if to stop him. Christine was hovering in the air, her hand pressed to her mouth in shock. She dropped to the ground in a halfhearted denial, accidentally landing on Rich's feet, who hissed in pain. Jake stood behind Michael, looking guilty and stressed. 

And then there was Michael, standing in the doorway with his hand still on the doorknob. His face had gone alarmingly pale. He was staring at Jeremy, a mixture of disbelief and terror on his face as his eyes took in the sight in front of him: Jeremy, crying and convulsing in his torn and bloody Spiderman suit, his arm bent the wrong way, covered in vomit and sweat and dirt.

Jeremy saw Michael’s jaw working as he tried to figure out what to say. He dropped the 7/11 bag he had been holding to the ground, and a family-sized bag of Cheetos spilled out, along with two bottles of Crystal Pepsi.

The sound of the snacks hitting the ground broke the spell, and everybody started talking at once.

They were speaking so fast Jeremy couldn’t understand what they were saying. Everybody’s panic-stricken shouts slurred together, layers of voices that he was unable to pick apart. His head felt like it was splitting into pieces. Somewhere, Jake was screaming and Rich was stumbling through excuse after excuse that made increasingly less sense, and Christine was rambling while Brooke just quietly started cutting through the suit again, determined to get him out of it.

“You need to leave-”

“It was a, uh, costume party gone wrong-”

“Rich, shut the fuck up-”

“You can’t tell anyone-”

“ _Don’t_ call 911-”

“He’s got a _car,_ Christine, he could-”

They were all so loud. All of their voices just skittered around Jeremy’s head, and he felt them echo against his skull, adding to the immense pressure that was already building as his brain pounded in his ears.

“Michael, are you okay-?”

“If you’re gonna throw up-”

“Say something, man-!”

Jeremy was terrified. He couldn’t process anything around him. His senses had been pushed into overdrive, meaning every sensation in the room was wrapping around his head and trying to pull him down. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He was terrified of dying. Dread piled in his stomach as Michael kept staring, unflinchingly, and Jeremy couldn’t look away. He didn’t _want_ to die, didn’t want Michael _watch_ him slowly slip away.

They had been best friends since _first grade_. In all that time, he never thought it would end like _this._ He didn’t think he’d ever have to figure out what his last words would be. He tried to say all of this to Michael, tried to explain to him that none of it was Michael’s fault _,_ that _they_ had been good, that Michael had been great and Jeremy wouldn’t change a thing except for how it was going to end, but his throat kept bubbling with blood or vomit or both and he couldn’t quite get his tongue to form the words.

And the others wouldn’t stop _screaming._

Then-

 _“Shut up!”_ Chloe demanded, and miraculously, everybody did. She crossed the space between her and Michael and grabbed his shoulders, bringing him into the room while Jake followed meekly behind. “I am going to be very clear with you, Michael. Things are really fucking bad right now.”

Michael’s eyes widened in terror, but Chloe barreled on before he could say anything. “None of us wanted you to find out this way, but you did. You have every right to freak out, but it’s going to have to wait until we get Jeremy to the hospital, alright? And if we don’t start moving _right now_ , Jeremy is going to die.”

“Jesus- _Jeremy,”_ Michael breathed, sounding like he was about to throw up, so softly Jeremy almost missed it. And then Michael was pushing away from Chloe and kneeling over Jeremy’s devastated body. His eyebrows were knitted together and his mouth was open as he fought to find words that wouldn’t come. His hands hovered over Jeremy’s newly bared skin, unsure, desperate. “You _idiot,_ I should’ve _known-”_

Jeremy didn’t even realize he had started babbling over Michael until he began to cough with the effort of trying to speak, but he had to say something, _anything,_ to explain so Michael wouldn’t hate him. He wanted to touch his face, bring a hand up and rest it on his cheek, but Jeremy’s arm lay useless beside him and he couldn’t quite get his working hand to listen to his brain.

“Not your fault, _not your fault -_ I’m sorry- I’m sorry- the Squip broke your headphones he tried to strangle me with them- because he’s tele-. Telekin- he can move things with his _mind,_ dude.” It wasn’t anything Jeremy _wanted_ to say. He wanted to tell him he loved him, that Michael didn’t deserve _any_ of this, that Jeremy was so impossibly fucking _sorry,_ but he kept sputtering about the headphones and couldn’t seem to stop. “The Squip wrapped them around my throat and- and- I dropped a _bus-_ ”

He coughed harder, and Jeremy tried to lift his head to breathe better, but his chest convulsed at the movement, sending anguish spiraling through his bones and black spots flickering across his sight. His head collapsed against the ground and he shut his eyes, arching his back in agony, which in turn only jostled his broken arm and sent more waves of pain tumbling over Jeremy’s body. Brooke yanked the scissors away as his body shook, but the suit had already been cut down to his waist. It just needed to be pulled away from his body.

Even the noise that tore from his throat sounded broken. Jeremy just squeezed his eyes shut and cried, trying to force his trembling body to stay still. He kept trying to speak, but his words sounded garbled, even to his own ears.

“ _Michael,_ ” he gasped, a plea, all his wrecked and broken body would allow him. “I’m- I’m so _sorry.”_

His voice was lost under the louder yells of his friends, who were all trying to remedy the situation by shouting louder and louder courses of action, but to no avail. Michael remained silent, but his hovering hands came to rest on Jeremy’s face, so gentle as they brushed away his hair, and Jeremy just cried harder.

“Michael,” Brooke said, her voice a calm and soft respite from the frantic yelling around the room. Michael just made another noise, and didn’t look away from Jeremy. “Michael. You need to help me take his suit off now. Then we’re going to take him to the hospital.”

“Okay,” Michael said, not quite present, and he helped Brooke slowly peel the suit off of Jeremy’s body. It stuck to his bleeding stomach and chest, and he whimpered as broken skin and bits of gravel and glass that had been stuck in his body came away with the spandex.

Eventually, Jeremy was left in nothing but his boxers while the Spiderman suit lay in tatters on the floor, the blue material stained purple from his blood. His chest heaved as he cried, dizzy as the world spun around him. Cold air ghosted against his skin and Jeremy shivered, unable to stop the tremors that wracked his body in between the convulsions.

Chloe kept giving orders, her voice shaking but firm. “We’re all going to help lift him up. Jake and Rich, you’re going to carry him. Christine, you’re going to fly in the air and support his head, okay? Make sure his neck doesn’t move too much. We don’t know- we don’t know how hurt he is. Everybody else, just- just help. Someone make sure his arm doesn’t move.”

Brooke rolled up the Spiderman suit and stuffed it in the back of Jeremy’s closet, then brought Jeremy’s backpack and placed it over the majority of the blood and vomit stains on the carpet to hide them in case anybody came looking.

Chloe turned pulled Michael aside and spoke urgently to him, ignoring the fact that he had gone paler than Jeremy had ever seen him. “You have to drive. We can’t call an ambulance, they’ll ask questions that we can’t answer. Brooke and I will come with you, and we’ll Toxic Talk the doctors out of any questions they have. It’s all going to be fine, I have a plan, you just need to focus on getting to there as fast as we can, okay?”

“You’re- you’re the-?” Michael asked, his voice small. 

Chloe swore under her breath and nodded. “He really didn't-? Okay, well, Brooke and I are the Toxic Talkers, Christine is the Tempest, and Jeremy is- well-”

Jeremy groaned as Jake eased him into the air, cutting Chloe off, while Christine held his head in place, her cold fingers gentle but firm against his burning neck. Rich, who had been sitting silently behind Jeremy this whole time, stood at Jeremy’s side and held his broken arm in place. Blinding pain rolled over him at the movement, and Jeremy fought the urge to throw up again as they moved him out of the bedroom.  

Jeremy stretched out the hand on his good arm out brushed the tips of fingers against Michael’s waist as they carried him out. Tremors racketed through his body. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to die here. He didn’t want Michael to _see_ him die.

Michael stiffened at the gentle contact, then turned and stepped ahead of them out of the bedroom door, disappearing down the stairs. Chloe followed suit, stepping neatly over the mess of snacks on the ground.

Jeremy kept talking. “He h-hates me. I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. _Should’ve_ told him. Before.”

“He’ll forgive you, Jeremy,” Christine said. The world faded around her, then pulsed back to life with his next stumbling heartbeat. Jeremy took another breath as his clenched teeth relaxed and he was able to open his mouth once again. Christine continued, “You love each other. That’s what’s important. Twelve years of that doesn’t just go _away.”_

“I _hurt_ him,” Jeremy insisted, guilt clouding his head. “I- I- _trust._ Can’t trust _me_ anymore.”

Rich interrupted from his side, “How ‘bout you just focus on not dying right now, Jer-bear? That sound good for you?”

Jeremy spoke through his teeth, which were clenched against his will as his body shut down. Every moment was a battle to stay awake, to keep his vision straight, to separate and identify the noises that were melting together around him. “M’so scared. Don’t wanna. Don’t wanna _die.”_

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Christine said, her thumb rubbing his temple as she looked down at him, hovering in the air as Jake and Rich carefully brought Jeremy down the stairs. “I’m scared too. But it’s going to be okay. You have _super-healing,_ Jeremy. You’re not gonna die. ”

She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than anybody else.

Rich said, “It’s a good step one. Hey, Jeremy, I promise, when you make it through this shitshow I’ll _personally_ help you with _whatever_ problems you’ve got, alright?”

Jeremy hummed, not hearing him, because the world had suddenly canted to the left, meaning Jeremy felt like he was falling out of Jake’s grip. His body jerked on instinct, sending torment splintering in his veins as his broken bones shifted underneath his skin.

“Hey, pal,” Jake grunted as Jeremy spasmed in his arms. They were outside now, walking towards Michael’s PT Cruiser, which was waiting in Jeremy’s driveway with the doors open. “I’m gonna forgive you just this one time, because you’re not exactly thriving at the moment, but that was my face you just tried to kick. Try not to kill the moneymaker.”

Jeremy let out a high laugh, hysterical, choked with tears. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to go back. Before he let the bus fall with all those people inside. Before the Squip decided to take over the world. Before Jeremy knew how to use his powers. Before Jeremy _had_ his powers. He wanted to go back to play rehearsal, when they were all a bunch of stupid teenaged superhumans trying to memorize lines and figure out how to use their powers. He wanted to go back to when superpowers were the stuff of movies and video games _._ He’d even settle going back to pining for his best friend. Anything would be better than this.

Instead,  death felt inevitable. He was going to die and leave Michael alone and leave his _dad_ alone and he would never get to celebrate Hannukah with them ever again and he wouldn’t get to take Michael out on an actual date and he wouldn’t get his full driver’s license and he wouldn’t go to college or get married or come out to his dad or any of the things he thought he’d have his whole life to do.

He was just a _kid._ He didn’t even care about the Squip anymore, he just wanted to make it to tomorrow. He would give up being Spiderman in a heartbeat if it meant he could just _stay alive._

All the times he had joked about being ready to die, or about ending it all, or about how this battle was probably going to kill him, he hadn’t really thought through the reality of it. That soon he would shut his eyes and he wouldn’t open them again.

But here he was, sore and exhausted and dying in the back seat of Michael’s car as they sped down the street, Christine crouched on the floor behind the passenger seat, Chloe in the front talking fervently to Michael as he drove, and Brooke in the trunk looking over where Jeremy was sprawled across the leather seats.

“You gotta stay awake,” Christine said, brushing Jeremy’s sweaty hair off of his forehead, and Jeremy cracked his eyes open, splitting apart the gunk that had gathered in the minutes he had been asleep. He hadn’t realized he had passed out. “We’re almost there. One more minute. C’mon, Jer, you can make it through anything for sixty seconds.”

The hospital was a five minute drive from Jeremy’s house. He didn’t know how long they had been in the car, but Jeremy fought to keep his eyes open until they got there. It was a losing battle. The healing process of his body had already begun, he could feel it, but it was happening all _wrong._ His bones were knitting together the wrong way, his skin regrowing over bits of metal and glass, the muscles in his back stiffening with internal bruising.

Every pothole and speedbump that they sped over pulled a keening wail from Jeremy in the backseat, dragging tears down his temples.

He focused on Michael, who was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles had turned white. Streetlights flickered along his face, illuminating his drawn facial features in short bursts before going dark. Oranges and blues and yellows lit up the car in time with Jeremy’s heartbeat.

“Michael,” Jeremy wheezed, struggling to get the words out. “S’my fault. Sorry. Sorry. _Sorry.”_

He kept repeating the word like it was the only one he knew, even after Michael practically crashed into the front of the hospital in his haste to get them there before somebody died. Jeremy whined in pain at the sudden stop, and the three girls pulled him out of the back seat while Michael watched, rooted to the ground, as Jeremy writhed in pain in their trembling grip.

Christine fell out of the air and landed hard on her feet in a lame attempt to remain undercover, despite the fact she was still dressed in her all-black Tempest costume. Chloe and Brooke had their arms linked underneath his body, stumbling to the emergency room doors as fast as they could despite walking sideways.

Michael’s hand slipped into his own at some point, carefully, and squeezed as if he were afraid Jeremy were going to shatter under the pressure. Jeremy tried to squeeze back, but he wasn’t sure if his own hand was working. All he could feel was his heart stuttering frantically against his chest, uneven and out of rhythm. His brain felt heavy, too big for his skull, and the world felt much too bright against his tired eyes.

Jeremy tried to wrap his fingers tighter around Michael’s hand, but couldn’t, so he settled for a choked, “ _Michael._ M’so sorry. Love you. _Love you.”_

Michael went ashen, but valiantly tried to keep his voice steady as he said, “Tell me that when we get out of here, alright? Take me out to dinner first.”

Jeremy made a panicked noise and tried to shake his head, but Christine’s hands held his head firmly in place, the three girl’s steps faltering as Jeremy twisted in their grip. “No, no, need to- need you to _know-”_

“Jeremy, stop moving,” Brooke ordered, but Jeremy didn’t listen as he moved, ignoring the otherworldly pain, ignoring his collapsing chest, ignoring the blood and the pressure in his head, as he tried to find Michael’s face.

“Jeremy,” Michael said, gripping his hand like he wouldn’t get the chance to again, and Jeremy only cried harder as he realized that he might not. He pulled Jeremy’s attention to right above him, and Jeremy went limp in the girls’ arms. “You’re gonna get better, and we’re gonna go on an actual date, and then you’re gonna tell me all about how you’re Spiderman and I’m going to kiss the _shit_ out of you, but you _promised_ me that talk first.”

And Jeremy tried to laugh, hopeless, and so in love with the boy standing over him despite the fact he had ruined _everything._ He tasted blood against his teeth, and he hiccuped as he cried, and he tried to nod through Christine’s vice-like grip, and he couldn’t say anything other than, “M’sorry.”

Michael shook his head, his voice breaking when he spoke. “No, no,  _no_ , you _can’t_ die, you _asshole,_ I’m mad at you, you’re not allowed to die until we _talk_ about this."

“Wanted to,” Jeremy managed, then stopped speaking altogether as his body was wracked with more wet coughs. _“I’m s-sorry.”_

They burst into the emergency room, and everybody’s heads twisted towards the group who was shrieking bloody murder while carrying a spasming and crying teenager.

 _“Help us!”_ Chloe screamed to anybody who would listen as they dragged him further into the room, her voice raw and pleading. _“Please!”_

Jeremy kept repeating the word even after a swarm of nurses and doctors amassed around them. They grabbed Jeremy out of the girls’ grip and hoisted him onto a gurney, a hundred hands pressing against his skin and a thousand voices screaming in his ear. The too-bright fluorescent lights blinded Jeremy as they danced in and out of focus above him. _Sorry. Sorry. Sorry._

“How long ago did he get hurt?”

Christine was rambling but not saying anything of substance.

“Why didn’t any of you call an _ambulance_?”

Brooke and Chloe were stumbling over their words, trying to Toxic Talk the doctors, but they couldn’t settle on a story.

“What were you _thinking,_ moving him? You could’ve paralyzed him!”

Jeremy’s hand was torn from Michael’s grip.

“Tell us everything that happened _right now_.”

And then even more doctors were shouting, and his friends were stumbling over their words, and Michael’s hand was yanked out of his own as they pushed the gurney through imposing double doors, and Jeremy was crying, and his chest was caving in, and everything was brutal and hard and cold, and then it all went dark.

 

*            *            *

 

(The first time he woke up it was to the smell of blood and rubbing alcohol. He blinked, instinctively trying to sit up only to realize he couldn’t move his body, and a dozen masked faces swam into focus above him. He felt the sharp prick of metal slicing into his forehead and tasted plastic in this throat, his tongue stuffed underneath a breathing tube. He couldn’t move his arms or legs, and his mind went straight to Michael, to his friends who _weren’t here_ , and he tried to say something but his chest felt too heavy to speak.

The doctor above him froze, her scalpel glinting in the operating room light. Terror swept through Jeremy’s blood. Was this what it was like to die?

“He’s waking up,” she said, looking over Jeremy’s head to the doctor behind him. “Doctor, check the anesthetic. He shouldn’t be conscious.”

“It’s not the anesthetic, it’s _him_ ,” another woman said from out of Jeremy’s field of vision. “Upping another 100mg.”

He sucked in another breath that tasted like chemicals, his eyes widening in panic, but darkness overtook him once again.)

 

*            *            *

(The second time he woke up he was alone in a too-bright hospital room. There were no windows. It reeked of antiseptics and bleach, and the bright lights above him buzzed below the beeping of his heart monitor. His body was unnaturally numb, as if it wasn’t quite present in reality.

It felt like he was floating, the world rocking around him like a soothing ship. Everything felt distant, but comfortingly so. For the first time in a long time, Jeremy didn’t feel any pain. He just felt a dull ache that started in his bones and reached to the base of his skull, dragging his body deeper into the hospital bed. His eyes burned with the effort of staying open. So he let them close.)

 

*            *            *

 

(The third time he woke up the pain felt a little more urgent, and it kept his eyes open long enough for him to turn his head to the side and see his dad sitting in a plastic chair. His back was hunched as he held his head in his hands. He looked exhausted. The first thing Jeremy processed about him was that he was wearing pants. It took Jeremy a moment to realize his dad’s shoulders were shaking. It took him another to figure out that he was crying.

Oh.

He had never seen his dad cry before. Not even when Jeremy’s grandfather died when he had been in the fourth grade, or during any of the yelling matches his parents had had before his mom always threatened to leave, or even when his mom had followed through with her threats on some random Friday after dropping Jeremy off at school.

His dad was still in his suit from court, but the jacket had been thrown over the back of the plastic chair. He was sitting in a stained white-button and slacks. The clothes were wrinkled, and the knot of his tie was loosened against his neck.

Jeremy went to make a noise around the tube in his throat, but fatigue drew itself over him and smothered him in its grip, pulling him back down before he could say anything at all.)

 

*            *            *

 

The fourth and final time he woke up, he was struck first by the sheer noise of the machines that were buzzing in the room. The tube in his neck was connected to a machine that whirred as it pushed air into Jeremy’s lungs. There were several screens, each with complicated electronic graphs that Jeremy couldn’t hope to understand. His heart monitor beeped steadily, but picked up pace as Jeremy opened his eyes and tried to piece together where he was.

The second thing that struck him was  a pain so terrible that he nearly went unconscious again immediately after he squinted open his eyes. But he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead. _He wasn’t dead._

Instead, he tried to groan and gripped the sheets with his good hand, but the tube in his throat prevented him from making any noise louder than a breathy hiccup. His dad heard him and jerked up to stand over Jeremy’s side.

“Jeremy?” his dad asked, gripping Jeremy’s good hand in his own. “Oh, thank _Christ.”_

Jeremy tried to speak, tried to ask if everyone was okay, if _Michael_ was okay, ask if they were okay and if they knew he wasn’t dead, (which was a miracle in and of itself that he still didn’t quite believe), ask where they were and if he could talk to them, but Jeremy couldn’t speak at all through the tube in his mouth.

His father ignored his cracked groans and pressed a button above Jeremy’s head, and moments later a doctor and team of nurses burst in, each holding a clipboard looking like they hadn’t slept in days. Upon seeing Jeremy conscious, laying in bed with his eyes wide open and looking at the people that had appeared in his room, the doctor rushed to his side and started running through checkups.

A nurse filled a syringe and pushed it into Jeremy’s drip, and the pain and panic retreated enough for Jeremy to breathe again, which was already an improvement. His heart monitor slowed to a steady beat and Death seemed to be sated, though he could still feel it nudging at the corners of his muscle memory.

Another nurse took the chart from the end of his bed and listed off his injuries aloud, (“The patient arrived with a crushed trachea, lacerations and burns to the head, chest, back, and arms, a broken right arm and clavicle, three bruised ribs, a torn tongue, and a high fever. Convulsions, dilated pupils, vomiting, and the patient’s inability to communicate indicated traumatic brain injury and swelling of the brain, which was confirmed upon an initial CT scan,” one doctor said, her voice slow but official), and they read his treatment history and prognosis, (“Suggested treatment is antiepileptics, painkillers, and bed rest with periodic post-surgery checkups to ensure the TBI, broken bones, and stitching all heal properly. Prognosis is strong, expected full recovery… With injuries that bad? That’s unheard of-?” the nurse asked, his voice confused, while the head doctor cut him off with a stern, “Thank you, Joe. Please check the trachea, now, please.”).

A group of them cleared Jeremy for tube-removal, and they snaked it out of his throat while Jeremy tried not gag. He failed, his throat catching in protest, but the drugs and his injuries kept his body too tired and feeble to retch. The brace on his collarbone felt heavy and warm against his skin, as did the cast on his arm and the bandaging on his forehead. He felt the IV needle digging into skin on the inner wrist of his non-broken arm and the flutter of the paper hospital gown against his bare legs.

His throat felt impossibly dry once the tube was out, and his chest ached in protest as he started coughing. One of the nurses carefully eased a glass of water to Jeremy’s lips, who drank gratefully. The water felt cool against his scorched throat but his trachea struggled to keep up with the movement of his throat.

“Thank you, nurses. You’re free to go,” the doctor said, ignoring Jeremy’s breathy wheezing as he adjusted to breathing without the tube. His _Adam’s apple_ hurt. “Well, Mr. Heere. I’ve never treated anybody quite like your son in all my years.”

Jeremy went cold. Did they know he was Spiderman? Had they already given him Mount Dew? Had he missed the UN conference? Was everybody already under the Squip’s control? Was he too late? Was it-

“Excuse me?” Jeremy’s dad asked, worried. “You said he was going to be okay-”

“I meant it positively,” the doctor explained. “His healing process is incredible. First of all, we weren’t sure he would make it through surgery at all, considering the extent of his brain injury and his reaction to the general anesthetic. His arm was broken upon arrival, but had almost healed entirely when we sent him in for his second X-Ray the next day. His burns and lacerations healed so quickly we thought we had misdiagnosed, and his brain has stopped swelling entirely despite the short timeframe. It’s, like Joe said, unheard of.”

Jeremy tried to stay calm, but the doctor was one good guess away from figuring out his deepest secret and bringing their whole tentative plan shattering around them. She listed off examples of his unnatural healing process, and he couldn’t help but wonder what else they had found in their initial diagnosis.

He could shoot webs from his veins. He could climb on walls with his bare hands. He could lift tens of thousands of pounds. Anything could have shown up on an X-Ray or in a blood test, and that would be it. His secret would be out.

“Well, erm.” Jeremy’s dad squirmed, unsure what to do with this information. His father’s unsureness felt awkward and familiar, easing some of Jeremy’s nerves, and Jeremy was struck with how thankful he was to get to see him at all.  “Thank you?”

“We would like to do more tests, actually, so we can research just what exactly has stimulated his accelerated healing. The only explanation I can think of is Mount Dew, but even _that_ hasn’t shown anything _close_ to what Jeremy here can do. You say he definitely hasn’t taken the vaccine yet?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, I will say,” The doctor paused, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was about to say. “None of the others believe me, but I felt it important to ask you.”

“Ask me what?”

“Has your son, ah,” the doctor hesitated, lowering her voice. “Been acting strange lately? Keeping odd hours? Coming home with unexplainable injuries? Demonstrating weird abilities? I’m- I’m not entirely sure what else some with superpowers is capable of, but I’m sure you can imagine. Can you recall anything of the sort?”

Jeremy’s dad blanched, placing a hand on the metal guardrail of Jeremy’s hospital bed and gripping it tightly. “What are you implying?”

The doctor spoke quickly, keeping her voice flat and professional. “Spiderman disappeared from Port Authority after getting injured by the Squip, right after that bus fell from the parking lot. And your son showed up here half an hour later, with similar injuries to that which Spiderman could have received during the battle. Footage of him being thrown around is all over the news.”

“Doctor,” Jeremy’s dad said quietly. “Are you asking me if my son is Spiderman?”

Jeremy fought the urge to throw up, suddenly thankful he wasn’t able to speak. This was it. Everything was crashing down around him, and Jeremy was stuck immobile in the bed.

“Yes,” the doctor said coolly. “Yes, I am.”

Jeremy’s dad’s eyes widened and he turned to face Jeremy, who went pale and still under his searching gaze. He was so unbelievably guilty of all of the above. His father had called him out on all of it not even three weeks ago. Jeremy’s mind went blank with fear, unable to even _comprehend_ what would happen if his dad exposed him.

His dad’s eyebrows furrowed softly, seeing something in Jeremy’s face, and when he spoke, his words were careful and slow. “No. He’s not. I would know.”

Jeremy didn’t breathe, waiting to see what the doctor said. Had his dad just _lied?_ Or did he really just not know?

“Yes, okay. I just- He’s healing process is truly remarkable and it seemed- never mind.”  The doctor’s cool facade broke, and she ducked her head. “Well, anyway, as he’s a minor, we would like _your_ permission to draw a few blood samples regardless, to see how it interacts with the vaccine, you see-”

Jeremy tried to protest, but nothing other than a breathy squeak came from his mouth, his voice box working hard but his trachea failing to deliver the noise. He tried to shake his head, but the neck brace held him in place. His dad looked at him, questioning, and Jeremy tried to convey everything with his eyes. _No, please, don’t let them because the world will actually implode if you do and it could end up with the Squip killing everyone I love-_

His dad opened his mouth in a question he couldn’t voice, and his eyes stayed on Jeremy as he settled for, “Not at this time. Thank you. Maybe later.”

“Mr. Heere, the applications of such an ability-”

“I said no, thank you,” Jeremy’s dad repeated, tearing his gaze away from Jeremy to stare at the doctors. “I am- Is he going to be transferred to a normal hospital wing soon? He’s conscious. And responding. You took the tube out. His heart doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop again.”

 _Again?_ Jeremy thought, but the doctor spoke before he could think _that_ one through.

“It appears so,” she said, her tone tinged with annoyance at being cut off before she could convince his dad. “We need to run a few more tests, make sure his healing isn’t ‘Last Good Day’ syndrome, but. I see no reason we can’t have him out of the ICU within the next few hours. It’s just truly remarkable how fast he has healed. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes-”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jeremy’s dad said, firmly. That didn’t feel familiar at all. It was the most authority Jeremy had heard his dad put into anything other than pasta sauce or his pantsless justification since his mom left, and it sounded wrong after having gone so long without hearing it. “Can I- erm. Have some time with my son? Alone?”

Jeremy tried to swallow, afraid of what was coming, but not even the painkillers sated the pain that came with the effort of trying to work saliva down his throat. The doctor thinned her lips, but nodded, and said she would be back with paperwork before his transfer to the general ward.

“Son.” Jeremy’s eyes went to his father, who was standing at the side of the bed looking at his son like he was an utter stranger. “Jeremy. Do you have any idea how _terrified_ I was when I got that call? Your friend- Christine, I think. I didn't believe her, but she was crying. I never needed to hear your friends cry over you." 

Jeremy blinked and didn't meet his dad's eyes, but he continued anyway. "Your heart kept stopping, Private. But- but restarting itself before the doctor's could shock you. They had to drain your skull and they  _tried_ to put you into an induced coma but- the- you kept processing the anesthetic faster than they had ever seen. You wanna explain where that came from? Because it sure as hell wasn't from me. Or your mother." 

Jeremy didn't say anything.

His dad sighed. "Your- your friends didn't seem surprised. They just kept insisting you'd make it through. I thought it was just teen arrogance. Y'know. The whole 'teenagers think they're invincible' schpeel. But. You pulled through. And you  _kept_ pulling through. And nobody could explain it. Except. That doctor, just now..." 

Jeremy closed his eyes against the hot tears that had formed. 

"Jeremy," His dad asked, his voice gentle and concerned. "Are you- _are_ you Spiderman?”

Jeremy would’ve thought his heart stopped completely if his heart monitor hadn’t said otherwise. He opened his eyes and avoided looking at his dad. 

He could lie. He could keep up the lie and bullshit some excuse and refuse to tell his dad the truth until he made Brooke and Chloe Toxic Talk him into _believing_ it.

But then he thought back to laying in the backseat of Michael’s car, a breath away from dying, and his heart clenched. He had felt Death clawing at his psyche mere _days_ ago, felt each of his organs shutting down while the Squip got away scot-free, but he had _survived._ The Squip hadn’t won yet. He had _lived_ and been given a second chance to do everything he didn’t think he would get the chance to do.

And if nothing else, Jeremy decided, forcing his eyes to meet his dad’s searching gaze, this time he would do it _right._

So Jeremy steeled his jaw, took a breath, and whispered, “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -if there are any glaring typos/etc it's 1:30am and i have 2% left on my computer and i'll FIX IT LATER I PROMISE  
> -CRYSTAL PEPSI HAD MODERN-DAY REVIVALS. TOTALLY REALISTIC THAT MICHAEL BOUGHT IT AT A 7/11.  
> -also real quick michael was 100% coming over to hang out and talk about chloe's selfie with spiderman and probably be disgustingly cute and fluffy with jeremy and then walked iN ON THIS and u KNOW his heart just about dropped to his stomach.... like.... jeremy dying?? while micahel is helplessly watching?? it's his worst fear COME TRUE  
> -writing medical scenes well? never heard of her.  
> -if it wasn't clear, the reason jeremy wakes up during surgery is that, bc of his superhealing, he processed the general anesthetic a lot faster than a normal kid.  
> -lol sorry but jeremy's in the ICU and there's no way they're letting anybody but family in there!!! hence, Heere's Dad  
> -two reveals in two subsequent chapters!! poor jerm's whole life is crashing down around him :( but at least he didn't die!! woo!! small miracles!!  
> -every bad decision these kids make i'm shoving under the blanket excuse "THEY'RE TEENAGERS! THEY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THEY'RE DOING!!! THEY ARE SEVENTEEN AND CAN'T LEGALLY DRIVE MORE THAN ONE PERSON IN NEW JERSEY LET ALONE HANDLE THE FATE OF THE WORLD!!! THEY ARE TRYING THEIR BEST AND NOBODY'S DIED YET SO IT'S P MUCH GOING AS WELL AS THEY COULD HAVE HOPED"  
> -MY HOMEGIRL NATALIE DREW JEREMY IN AN OVERSIZED SWEATER FROM A FEW CHAPTERS BACK!!!! CHECK IT OUT [HERE](http://lionsheart.co.vu/post/162168973777/yo-so-this-is-just-a-messy-af-ipad-doodle-before)  
> -40k words later.... and jeremy can finally recognize when it's time to tell people the truth. #characterdevelopment   
> -pls comment this just hit 300 and i read THEM ALL and cherish every one <333


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 11, alternatively titled: jeremy is a Sad Boi (read: angsty teenager with Trauma!) and emma tries to format texting

One full week after the Squip almost killed him in Port Authority, the hospital let Jeremy go home.  

The last three days were spent in the general ward, surrounded by nurses and student doctors who kept dropping by to meet the boy who came back from death’s doorstep in one miraculous week. They kept poking and prodding and asking questions Jeremy couldn’t answer without ice sliding down the back of his neck and a panic attack pooling in his chest. The doctors got more and more insistent until Jeremy’s dad mentioned something about a lawsuit and physician-patient privilege, and suddenly the stream of interrogation stopped, replaced by doctors who asked questions with a tone that begged Mr. Heere not to sue.

His dad was just a divorce lawyer. But they didn’t need to know that. 

So they let Jeremy go home. They did a final round of checkups, removed the cast on his arm, and tried to keep their stunned whispers quiet enough so Jeremy and his dad wouldn’t hear over the buzz of the saw, which would’ve been fine except Jeremy’s super-hearing picked up every word they said. _Think it’s insurance fraud? You think he faked it? But they’re not asking for money. Becky in orthopedics said his arm was snapped clean in half. Connolly from pediatrics thinks he’s Spiderman. But he’s just a kid! I know, it’s just not possible. Who’s to say. Crazy shit, whatever it is._

All Jeremy could do was swallow dryly and keep his eyes glued to the ground while his dad sat beside him, oblivious. His dad signed paperwork while Jeremy carefully stretched out his newly-healed arm, still unable to believe it himself when he didn’t feel any pain. He had done this. His body had _done this._  

The car ride home was silent except for his dad’s nervous tapping on the steering wheel and whatever 60s song that was playing softly on the radio. Jeremy had sat in the passenger seat staring straight ahead, tense, waiting for his dad to start asking him questions that he didn’t even know how to _start_ answering.

But the questions never came. His dad just pulled the Prius into the driveway and helped Jeremy to his bed with a tentative, “I’ll be in my office if you need me,” before he gently closed the door, leaving Jeremy alone and more confused than ever.

It felt like his dad didn’t know how to act around Jeremy anymore. Before, his dad stayed in his underwear and cracked jokes and interrupted whenever he had friends over. Now, his dad had made pants a seemingly permanent part of his wardrobe and acted like he was actively trying to make it feel like everything was normal by leaving him alone as much as possible.

So Jeremy had showered, hissing as the hot water ran over his still-sensitive skin, and he began the process of washing away a week of hospital chemicals and sponge baths. He worked through the grime that had settled in his hair from the battle that the nurses hadn’t quite managed to get out. He breathed in deeply, reveling in the steam and ignoring the twinge in his chest. He scrubbed the post-cast feeling from his once-broken arm and replaced the dry smell of plaster with his citrus-scented body wash.  

He stood under the hot stream for a few more minutes, his head ducked under the water and his toes curled against the tile. He thought about his friends, then about the Squip, then about the bus, and felt his head go dizzy with regret and shame. He stepped out of the shower and toweled off as he stepped in front of the mirror, trying to put everything in his head aside for just a few more minutes.

Jeremy barely recognized the reflection. His eyes were sunken and hollow, with deep purple bags bruising the skin underneath. Soft acne scars littered his cheeks and temples, and his damp brown hair hung limp against his skin, curling slightly and concealing the zits that mapped his forehead. His cheeks were gaunt and his throat was still covered in angry red marks.

His legs and stomach were taut and lean and discolored from the injuries that hadn’t yet fully healed. His ribs still ached when he stretched a certain way, and his throat still flared in protest whenever he spoke too loudly, or too much, or did anything that involved moving his neck. The hole in his tongue had healed completely and the stitches were dissolved, but it still felt weird when he ran it over his teeth. The burns and cuts from where the wire of Michael’s headphones had wrapped around his body had been reduced to thin pink lines that were scattered around his torso.

But otherwise, he was okay. He was walking and talking and breathing, and the pain was just a shadow of what it had been a week ago. He was, for the most part, completely fine.  

Whether or not he _deserved_ to be. Well. That was another question entirely.

 

*           *           *

 

Later that day, Jeremy was sitting in bed wearing only Sonic pajama pants and waiting for his phone to charge. His legs were bent and his chin was resting on his knees as he stared out the window at the street he had grown up on.

The Prius was parked in front of the basketball hoop Jeremy’s mother had gotten him for his tenth birthday. He and Michael had played half a game of Horse before they each realized neither of them enjoyed it, and then they had spent the rest of the afternoon trying to balance while standing on top of the basketball.

On the other side of the yard there was a rope hanging around a tree that _used_ to be a tire swing, before Jeremy’s mom had taken down the tire. She had read about some kid two towns over who had snuck onto somebody else’s tree swing and broken his neck, and his parents had sued the homeowners. _“We don’t need a lawsuit, Jeremiah,”_ she said when Jeremy had come to her, devastated. “ _Just go to the park if you want swings. God knows you could stand to leave the house every once in awhile.”_

Across the street was the house that Jeremy and Michael had covered in shaving cream and eggs and toilet paper on Mischief Night, before the man who lived there threatened to call the police as he escorted the two of them back to Jeremy’s house, where he yelled at Jeremy’s dad, too. 

Four years later, Michael accidentally ran over one of that same man’s garbage bins the day after he got his license. The old man had come out of the house screaming, and Jeremy had jumped into the Cruiser and yelled, _“Go! Go! Go!”,_ the thrill of it all curling in his belly, and the two of them had sped down the street, unafraid, invincible, and happy.

Jeremy’s phone buzzed to life beside him and he picked it up, trying to ignore the way his heart clenched in his chest at the memories. It was pretty much a miracle that it had turned on at all, after getting cracked and mostly destroyed from where he had kept it in the leg pocket of his Spiderman suit.  The messages came in slowly and erratically, and he opened Facebook while he waited for them all to load.

He shouldn’t have opened it at all. The first thing that popped up was the selfie of Chloe and him in the Spiderman suit, causing Jeremy’s heart to jump to his throat as his mind was dragged back to that night. He saw Michael’s comments but didn’t get the chance to read them before the app automatically refreshed.

The first post was from some girl in his chem class that just said _#Bus371_ # _Pray4NYC_. Jeremy frowned, and swiped his thumb to scroll down, nerves pooling in his stomach.

The second was from a kid Jeremy had gone to preschool with. He had written an essay on why superheroes couldn’t be trusted, why lawmakers needed to enact stronger laws that required supers to document their identities. Jeremy read it all, horrified, then read the list of comments from people who agreed with him.

Further down, the New York Times had posted an op-ed by some college professor who had reposted the picture of him and Chloe and written _Maybe Spiderman should spend less time taking selfies and more time preventing attacks like the one in Port Authority on Friday._  

Another girl defended Spiderman, citing a picture somebody had taken from a turnstyle of him bleeding and broken on the ground. Jeremy realized with a start that it had been the same girl he had seen in CVS all those weeks ago. She was saying how it was the Squip’s fault, and how Spiderman had to at least be commended for trying.

He scrolled down. The back of his neck had gone cold.

Someone had remixed cellphone footage of Jeremy in his suit flying through the information sign. They had used the loud crash his body made on impact and edited the noise as the beat for _Hollaback Girl._ Jeremy watched himself hit the sign over and over and over again while Gwen Stefani mocked him from the speakers. It had millions of views. Jeremy’ mouth went dry and his body was frozen, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He took a shaky breath and forced himself to scroll down even further.

Somebody else had shared a video from some other news network with the caption _Stop The Squip and Spiderman, Quick!_

Jeremy tried to breathe through his pounding heart as he closed the app. It was all his fault. He had let them all die. He’d been the cause of a major terrorist attack. It was all his fault.

He opened his messages, trying to read through the panic that was pushing against his eyes.  

There were two-hundred and fifteen text messages in the _Subway Soup or Hero?_ chat, and fourteen from Michael, but couldn’t quite bring himself to read what the latter had said. He texted the group chat a simple _hi,_ letting them know he was still alive _._ There was no answer, leaving him without a reason to justify not reading what Michael had said.

He tapped on Michael’s contact, and his string of messages popped up.

They were all from the night of the attack. They started from early Friday night, when Jeremy had been sitting on the roof of Port Authority, and continued through the moments before he had appeared in Jeremy’s room.

 -

**_Michael sMells:_ **

 

> _yo do u have snacks at tu casa or should i bring some_
> 
> _i found something hella cool at 7/11_  
> 
> _you’ll never guess what ;))))_
> 
> _not what you THINK it is u horndog_
> 
> _there will be no hanky panky tonight_  
> 
> _ok maybe a little hanky panky_
> 
> _if ur cool with that_  
> 
> _dude_
> 
> _bro_
> 
> _broseidon god of the brocean_
> 
> _are u alive_
> 
> _did u fall asleep lmao_
> 
> _??_
> 
> _ok well im omw_

 -

Then, Jeremy’s phone buzzed once more, and three new messages from Michael appeared on his cracked screen, delayed by his struggling phone. They were from two days ago, and Jeremy could barely think straight as he read them.

 -

**_Michael sMells:_ **

 

> _i can’t fucking believe that you_
> 
> _fuck fuck i didn’t mean to send that i wasn’t gonna say anything at all fuck_
> 
> _GOD u are so fucking STUPID_

_-_

His breath caught in his throat and he hit the home button, hard, staring at his phone background as he struggled to breathe through his oncoming panic attack.

It was a picture that his dad had taken at prom. In it, Michael had his arm slung around Jeremy’s shoulders. His hair was slicked up with one or two strands falling in his face and he was grinning as he held Jeremy to him, his power button cufflinks having caught the sunlight and glinting with the slightest bit of lens glare. He looked strong and steadfast and confident and content, glowing as he looked into the camera.  

Christine stood behind them, her face pressed between his and Michael’s, her hands curved into matching bunny ears behind each of their heads. Her tongue was sticking out, but her eyes gave away her smile.

Even Jeremy looked happy. The photo had captured him mid-laugh, caught by surprise at the sudden weight of Michael’s arm on his back. His own fingers were curled against Michael’s maroon vest, and Jeremy could remember how warm and solid Michael had felt against him.

It had been a night of dreams. There wasn’t any serious crime that required Spiderman, so the group had danced terribly and laughed loudly and got to actually _be_ the teenagers that they were. During the slow dance, he and Michael had snuck out behind the hotel where the prom had been held to share a joint that Michael had hidden in his inner chest pocket.

Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget the way Michael had looked as he fumbled with the lighter, so open and warm and talking to Jeremy like he was the only one in the world that mattered. Jeremy had been so enamored by him as they shared the joint behind the bushes in the garden, but so _convinced_ that Michael wasn’t interested. He had been so afraid Michael would think he was just assuming he was interested in Jeremy because Michael was gay, so afraid of coming out to Michael when he wasn’t even sure _himself,_ so afraid of Michael finding out he was Spiderman and hating him forever.

Jeremy remembered how he had settled for taking another hit and blowing smoke into Michael’s face just to see him sputter indignantly, and Jeremy was happy enough to claim him as his best friend, happy enough with getting to spend any time with Michael at all.

Jeremy blinked his eyes open and swiped away hot tears as he realized that his worst fear had come true. Michael had found out, and had abandoned him, and Jeremy had _deserved_ it. Jeremy was a murderer, and a liar, and an _idiot_. He deserved what he got. It was his fault for thinking otherwise.

He locked his phone and tossed it aside. Guilt ran hot under his skin, stuffing his lungs and pulling on his limbs. He tried to breathe, biting the inside of his cheeks and rubbing his wrists as he tried to figure out what to do.

There was nothing he _could_ do. He was still healing. His best friend hated him. His dad was avoiding him like the plague. The others weren’t answering, probably because they blamed him too. He had let seventy-two people die. The whole world hated him. He couldn’t make up for that.  Ever.

But trying wouldn’t hurt.  

His eyes fell to his torn and ruined Spiderman suit, stuffed into the corner of his closet but still visible from underneath some of Jeremy’s shoes. He eased himself out of bed and padded across his room, pulling out the suit and running his hands over the ruined fabric that had gone stiff with old sweat and blood. From behind it, he pulled out the mask, surprised to find it was still in okay shape.

He chewed on his lip, debating, then moved to his dresser and dug around in the drawers. He pulled out a faded red long sleeved t-shirt, then the leggings that Chloe had given him after the bridge incident. He dug out two pairs of atrociously fuzzy socks, and then laid everything out on the floor.  

He sat back on his heels, looking at the mess of clothes he had assembled, and made a choice.

 

 

*           *           *

 

His makeshift Spiderman suit wasn’t ideal, but it got the job done. 

Jeremy worked his way through seventeen different crimes that night. He stopped muggers and robbers and rapists and drug deals. He webbed them to the walls and punched them in the stomach and picked them up with a web and dropped them from the sky in front of police. He picked up a homeless man who, from the look and smell of him, had overdosed, and he webbed him to the same hospital Jeremy had just left.  He dismantled attempted robberies and helped a lost little girl find her way home. He hit harder than he should have and apologized a little more firmly to the victims than he normally would.

He couldn’t help the people at Port Authority. But he could help these people. So he kept fighting. 

He punched and got punched, kicked and got kicked, but he just grit his teeth and spat out blood and forced himself to keep going.  He hurled taunts and quips and ignored the way his throat ached with the movement. He didn’t listen to the throbbing in his ribs. The hurt in his bones was just a reminder of what he hadn’t been able to do for all those people on the bus.

The night went on. Jeremy didn’t stop.

And then one of the thugs pointed a gleaming silver gun at his head.

Jeremy froze. The thug sneered, his yellow teeth glinting in the dim orange light of the back alley Jeremy had confronted him in. They were five feet apart, and the thug was slowly walking closer.

Jeremy had faced guns before. It would be so easy for him to duck, to send out a web and latch the guy’s hand to the wall, for him to pull himself into the air and drop on the guy’s head. He had done it a thousand times, and he hadn’t been shot yet.

But something stopped him. He didn’t do any of the above. He just stood still, slowly lifting his arms in defeat, unable to pull his eyes away from the mouth of the gun.

“Gotcha now, _Spiderman,”_ the thug laughed. “Didn’t nobody think of doin’ this to you before?”

The thug twisted his wrist a little to the left and pulled the trigger, shooting a bullet into the building directly behind Jeremy’s head. He flinched as he felt it fire past his ear, leaving only a high ringing in his ears. The _bang_ echoed down the alley, impossibly loud, hitting the buildings and bouncing down the street before fading away.   

“What happened to your suit?” the thug asked, stepping closer. Jeremy took a matching step backward, pressing his back against the brick wall and breathing heavily through his nose. The sleeves of his red t-shirt fell down his arms as he lifted them higher, as if the guy would show any mercy on him. The thug aimed the gun back at Jeremy’s head. “Heard about your stunt at Port Authority. Everybody’s been calling for you to come forward. Pretty fucked up thing you did, with all those people.”

Jeremy was frozen against the wall. He didn’t send out a web. He didn’t dropkick the gun out of the thug’s hand. He just stared down the barrel and tried to steady his breathing. Maybe he deserved to get shot. He probably wouldn’t die. After all, he’d lived through worse.  

“Not even gonna say nothin’?” the thug spit on the ground and took one step closer. The gun was inches from Jeremy’s face. “Man. Didn’t think you’d be this _boring.”_

His thumb dragged down the gun as he cocked it again. Jeremy stayed silent. He could smell the hot metal, could hear the mechanics of the gun as they clicked into place, ready to shoot. Jeremy swallowed. This was it.

And then something was hurtling down the alley and barreling right into the thug, throwing him ten feet away. Jeremy froze, watching as the shape wrapped its thighs around the guy’s head and throw him against the ground. The shape hovered in the air and the gun clattered to the ground, and Jeremy blinked as he realized the shape was _Christine._

Christine picked up the gun as the thug moaned on the ground, clutching his head. She floated a few inches off the ground with her feet planted firmly apart and pointed the gun at the guy. “Scram! And- and don’t ever hurt anybody again, or I’ll do a lot worse than steal your gun!”  

The guy just nodded frantically, terrified as he scrambled down the alley and disappeared into the street. Christine watched him go, then held the gun away from her body with two fingers, as if it were the most disgusting thing she had ever seen. She spoke, almost to herself, “Ugh. I never want to hold another one of these ever _again._ Jeremy, you _know_ my feelings on gun control.”

She tossed it into a dumpster and then turned to face Jeremy, dropping down to the ground. She planted her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. Even with her mask, she looked pissed. “You wanna explain what in the _world_ was going down just now? ” 

Jeremy pulled his mask off and shrugged. “I was gonna take him down eventually.”

 _“Eventually?”_ Christine marched over to him. “What do you mean- ‘ _eventually’?_ I’ve seen you take out guns a hundred times! Why did you let him shoot at all? What were you even  _thinking_ going out tonight? You're still healing! Me and the Toxics have the crime under control, we texted you! You need to focus on getting better. Jesus _Christ,_ Jeremy, what were you gonna do? _Let_ him shoot you?”

Jeremy shrugged again. “Probably not.” 

_“Probably?"_

Jeremy turned and started walking out of the ally, bunching his mask up in his palm, anger rising in his stomach. “It doesn’t matter, Christine.”

“Um.” Christine darted over and hovered in front of him, pushing his chest to stop him from going any further. “Of _course_ it matters! A guy just held _you-_ _Spiderman-_ at gunpoint and _you-_ again, _Spiderman._ Superpowers!- weren’t gonna do _anything?”_

He didn’t meet her eyes when he said, “Maybe I deserved it.” 

_“What?!”_

“I let all those people _die,”_ he spat, disgusted with himself. His voice broke, and Christine’s eyes widened. “It’s all my fault. It doesn’t _matter_ if I got shot. _”_

“You-?” Christine spluttered, throwing her hands up in the air and making a noise that sounded frustrated and annoyed and sympathetic all at once. She shoved a finger against Jeremy’s chest, and he fell backwards against the wall. “Jeremy. You had a _traumatic brain injury._ Your _arm_ was _snapped in half._ You- you were _dying!_ Your heart stopped four times in the hospital! And you _still_ managed to get that bus to hold against the wall. That’s incredible in and of itself. You didn’t _let_ anybody die- the _Squip_ did!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jeremy pushed past her. “I should’ve tried harder.”

“You were _dying!”_ Christine screeched. “The Squip broke your web! It is one hundred percent, never in a million years, _not at all_ your fault.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about-!”

“You did _everything_ you could have to stop him-” 

“I didn’t do everything-”

“Yes, you _did-!”_

 _“Then they should still be alive!”_ Jeremy shouted, his words echoing down the alley. Christine fell silent. Jeremy clenched his fists at his sides, his fingernails of his right hand digging through the mask into his palm. “I didn’t do everything. If I had, they’d be alive. But they’re dead. I _killed_ them! _”_

“Jeremy,” Christine’s voice was firm. “You didn’t kill those people.”

“You haven’t seen what everyone is saying, have you?” Jeremy asked, whirling around. He could barely breathe through the ugly guilt that had wrapped itself in his chest like the wires of Michael’s headphones. “Everyone on Facebook, or Twitter, or whatever. They say it’s all my fault. And it _is._ ” 

 _“Fuck_ Facebook and Twitter!” Christine hissed, and Jeremy looked up at her, distantly surprised she had cursed so vehemently. “Twitter also said _Cats_ should have been nominated for Best Revival of a Musical, and half the people on Facebook don’t know how to hold a conversation in real life. Those websites are full of idiots! None of them were there! How could they _possibly_ have any idea what happened?” 

“There’s pictures. And video,” Jeremy said, and his voice cracked, and all the fight went out of him. His shoulders slumped, and tears burned against his eyes. “God- Christine, everybody _knows_ that I couldn’t-”

“They just show you _bleeding out_ on the floor!” Christine stared at him, intent. “I promise- I _promise,_ Jeremy, that none of of this is your fault. It’s _not_ _your_ _fault_. It never was. It never will be. You really, really, _really_ did everything you could, and everyone- me and Chloe and Brooke and the boys and- and even _Michael-_ we all think it. And I- I’m so sorry I can’t do anything to help you _believe_ that. But. I’ll keep telling it to you. Every day. And so will the others. Until you do.”

Jeremy pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to forget the broken necks and frozen fear of the bodies on the bus from when Christine had dragged him away. “I can still hear them screaming, Christine.”

And he could. He hadn’t been able to sleep without copious amounts of hospital drugs since the attack. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the smoking wreckage and shattered glass covered in blood, heard their muted shrieks, heard the Squip laughing as he snapped Jeremy’s webs and sent them crashing down, down, down. Every time he tried to sleep, he ended up sweaty and cold and jerking up in bed, unable to get the image out of his mind.

Jeremy looked up at her, tears blurring his vision as he fought against the lump in his throat.

“Nobody blames you, Jeremy,” Christine squeezed his knees. “I promise you that.”

Jeremy couldn’t do anything but let himself cry.

It was an ugly one. His face crumpled and he let out a broken wail, unable to control the ugly noises that came from his throat. Christine drew him into a hug and Jeremy buried his face into her neck, weeping harder. He hiccuped and snorted and struggled to breathe through the sobs that wracked his body.

 _“_ Their _families,”_ he howled, his voice only slightly muffled by Christine’s neck. _“_ I’m- so- s _orry.”_

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Christine soothed as she rubbed his back. “It’s okay, Jeremy. You’re okay.”

“And- and _Michael,”_ Jeremy hiccuped, pulling away from Christine and swiping the snot from his nose. “I ruined _everything._ I love him so much and- it _hurts_ and- you were wrong- he- he- I.”

“I know,” Christine murmured. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Jeremy cried harder. His shoulders shook and he curled into himself, trying to make himself as small as possible despite his lanky frame. His heart was pounding so fast he felt like it was about to break through his ribs. 

Panic choked his words and Jeremy couldn’t do anything but _let_ it. He wanted to disappear, wanted the ground to swallow him up and be done with it. Instead, Christine kept whispering quietly in his ear, trying to get him to breathe, and Jeremy couldn’t stop crying.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, until the tears stopped coming. Jeremy pulled away from Christine and rubbed at the swollen skin underneath his eyes.

Jeremy blinked. His eyes burned. Exhaustion dragged on his bones.

“Sorry,” he sniffed, dragging his sleeve across his wet nose. “I got snot on your shirt.”

“That’s okay.” Christine mouth quirked into a sad smile, and spoke like she was talking about more than just the shirt. “I forgive you.”

Jeremy’s head knocked against the wall behind him and he stared up at the sliver of sky that was visible between the two buildings. Stars glistened against the dark blue sky. Bright. Consistent.

He thought of his friends, of Christine right beside him and of all the others who had risked their own lives and secrets just to save his. He thought of Michael, even though it hurt, and the look on his face when he had walked into that room. He tried to remember the feeling of Michael’s hand in his own, wanted nothing more than to go back to that day in the practice room. He should have told him everything months ago. Should have told him everything, instead of skittering around it like if he ignored it enough it would just go away.

Jeremy inhaled, letting the early June air fill his lungs before he slowly breathed it all out. It was late. Probably past midnight. He had been fighting meaningless criminals since before the sun had gone down, and the moon had long since risen above the horizon. His eyes felt sore. His dad was probably worried too, that is, if he had stopped avoiding him entirely. All Jeremy wanted to do was curl up against a certain boy’s chest and use his heartbeat to drown out the memories of the screaming bus passengers and _go to sleep,_ preferably forever. But there wasn’t much of a chance of _that_ anymore, even if Michael did decide to ever talk to him again.

“I lost Michael,” Jeremy said quietly, still staring at the sky. “He texted me. Called me a fucking idiot. Which, I mean, I _am_. But. He said he didn’t want to say anything at all, so. Got his message loud and clear.”

“Did you talk to him?” Christine asked, resting her head on Jeremy’s shoulder.

Jeremy breathed in, the air rattling in his stuffy nose. “No.”

“Well,” Christine’s voice was gentle, but assured. “Maybe you should start there.”

“He doesn’t want me,” Jeremy mumbled. “I lied to him. And led him on. I can’t- I can’t stand there and watch while he says he _hates_ me. And I’m a _murderer._ There’s no way- _”_

“Jeremy. Stop.” Christine didn’t move her head from its position on his shoulder, but she spoke as if she were looking right at him. “You’re not a murderer. And I think you should talk to him in person before you say that he hates you. Because from _my_ end, I saw Michael stay in that waiting room with us until they told us you had woken up in the ICU. And I saw him pull Jake aside at lunch and ask if any of us had heard from you. And I saw him check his phone every five minutes during Spanish, as if he were waiting for somebody to text him, and kept biting his lip when nobody did.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

Christine shook her head. “I think he’s waiting for _you_ to make the first move _,_ Jeremy. I mean, what are you supposed to do when you find out your best friend is _Spiderman?_ ”  

Jeremy’s heart hung heavy in his chest. “Did he really wait for three days?" 

“Yeah,” Christine said. “We all did. It’s almost as if we all love you, or something.”

Jeremy’s heart twinged.  “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘ _oh’,”_ Christine mimicked, but her voice was warm. “But, yeah, I think you should talk to him. Don’t be one of those dumb boys who lets miscommunication become its own plotline. Tell him everything,” she said, then nudged his side. “And, hey, look on the bright side.”

 _“_ There’s a bright side?”

“The hard part’s over,” she said. “He already knows who you are _and_ how you feel about him. So you can start from there. You get to start on step three.”

She paused, then stood up and offered a hand to Jeremy, who took it and hoisted himself up so he was standing next to her.

Christine cracked her back, and the two of them walked down the alleyway in comfortable silence. They stepped out onto the empty sidewalk, the various stores having long since closed, their windows all dark. Jeremy felt the familair ache in his muscles that came from battles hard-fought as they came to a stop on the curb. His wounds from the prior week still throbbed, reminding him of what he had been through, and what was still to come.

“Now,” Christine said, lightly jumping into the air and hovering there. “Let’s go home."

Jeremy nodded in agreement and pulled his mask back on. Christine darted away, and Jeremy slung a web to a nearby building, pulling himself into the air and following her on the familiar route back to their neighborhood. The wind rushed against his skin and he tried to relax into the feeling after having come so close to losing it forever.

He couldn’t quite do that, though. The pain from last Friday still weighed heavy on his mind, and guilt was still pulsing in his veins with every breath he took. He couldn’t get over it, ever. Even though the Squip had cut the webs, Jeremy had still been a reason why none of the people on that bus made it home. He hadn’t been enough.

But he could _become_ enough. He had a little over one week before the UN conference. It wasn’t much time, but he could concentrate on making himself better, making sure the Squip didn’t succeed in his plan, making sure he didn’t fuck up in the same ways that he had before. He knew what the Squip was capable of, but now he knew his own strengths as well _._ He knew the risks, he would learn from his mistakes and correct them, and this time, he would win. He had to.

It was his only chance. Next time, the Squip wouldn’t hesitate before snapping his neck.

But before he did that, there was one mistake that couldn’t wait until after he defeated the Squip. Jeremy was done waiting. He should have worked through it a long time ago.

“Hey, Christine,” he called, tightening his fingers on the traffic light he had landed on. Christine slowed to stop and hovered a few feet away from him. Jeremy was so, so tired, but he had to do this. He _wanted_ to do this. “I think I’m- I’m gonna go do what you said.”

“Good idea.” Her eyes crinkled softly as she smiled. “Godspeed, Spidey.”

Jeremy ducked his head, then turned and jumped off the traffic light in the direction of Michael’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes:
> 
> -sorry if this is a little close to bathtub story territory. i tried :\  
> -my kink is healthily talking through problems so miscommunication doesn't cause entirely avoidable problems!! christine GETS it  
> -ngl. i definitely have planned out all of their prom outfits in my head. ftr: jeremy is wearing a black suit, white button down with a deep blue skinny tie, michael's in a black tux, vest is maroon a matching bowtie, and christine's dress is a different shade of maroon but it's just a long silk skirt that goes to her belly button and she's wearing a white sleeveless lace halter top that just covers her belly!! her hair is also done up really majestically and her highlight is ON POINT.  
> -anyway. i told y'all it was gonna be a slow burn. but the slow part is comin to an end!!! now comes the burn :)  
> -jeremy's dad just. doesn't know how to handle jeremy. so he's ignoring him :( dw it wont stay like that :(  
> -mischief night is a new jersey thing that is basically like, kids (usually middle school and younger) will go out on the night before halloween and just. shaving cream everything. and egg people's houses. and TP the SHIT out of everything.  
> -also in nj, you get your GDL license when ur 17(meaning u can only drive one other person, and you can't drive after 11pm or before 5am), and then u get ur FULL license when you're 18. so that whole scene takes place early junior year. in my hc, michael's birthday is in november so he's old for his year, and jeremy's is on may 4th (star wars day. jeremy's like "i was born to be a loser" but michael thought it was the coolest thing ever).  
> -i think that's all i wanted to say?? these notes are always so long rip. anyway. happy 4th of july weekend @ my fellow americans!!!! our country is falling apart so u KNOW i will be eating hotdogs like there's no tomorrow  
> -comments and kudos help me sleep at night <3333


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things go wrong, things go weird, and things go right. idk. there's a bird and there's boys having feelings. also, this is officially the longest thing i have EVER written!! ever!! ghfjdk im just a tiny bit proud of myself lol (ps: sorry for the long paragraphs but they were necessary and i hope u enjoy anyway!)

Jeremy was clinging upside-down to the outside wall of Michael’s house, trying to talk himself into actually going through with what was truly a terrible, terrible idea.

He knew how ridiculous he must look, with his shirt falling up his chest due to the angle and revealing his bruised and still-healing back and waist, while his Spiderman mask was pulled up to his hairline so he could breathe.  He didn’t think about what Michael’s neighbors would do if any of them looked through their windows and saw Jeremy stuck to the wall, decked out in clothes that best resembled his Spiderman suit and featuring the mask itself. _Fuck._ How did he ever think this was a good idea?

He didn’t think about who already might have called the cops. He didn’t think about how it was close to three in the morning on a school night and Michael might already be asleep.  He didn’t think about how Michael would react to what Jeremy would say.

He absolutely did not think about the fact that Michael might not even let him say anything at all.

“You can do this,” Jeremy muttered out loud, his voice tight, trying to calm himself down. He slowly pressed his hands against the window, his fingertips sticking to the glass. “Just crawl in. Get his attention. Explain everything. Pass chemistry. Defeat the Squip. Live happily ever after.”

He slid the window open. He was sticking the wall using only his feet, his stomach tight with the effort of keeping himself horizontal against the house.

A twig snapped. Jeremy’s head shot up. Instinctively, he lowered his body against the vinyl siding, hoping the shadows hid him well enough from whoever or _whatever_ might be lurking in the yard.

Jeremy’s eyes scanned the lawn, searching for the source of the noise, and landed on the culprit.

The biggest Canadian goose Jeremy had ever seen was staring right at him, its eyes cold, its beak slowly falling open into a soft hiss.

It was almost laughable, how unbelievably _weird_ his life had become, that he was staring down a goose at three in the morning after almost getting _shot_ forty-five minutes earlier, while clinging on the side of Michael’s house by nothing but his fingertips, on a _school night._

Except the goose was beginning to ruffle the feathers on its neck, and Jeremy couldn’t find it in him to be anything except afraid.

“Oh, no-no-no,” Jeremy eased, holding out a gentle hand as if to appease it. The goose just stretched its wings and stretched out its neck. It waddled closer to Jeremy. “Good goose. Good goose. I’m-uh, actually trying to do something kinda important here? So if you could- Please _don’t-_ ”

The goose lunged at him. Jeremy yelped, already on edge, and ducked his head before throwing out a web to stop the inevitable attack.

It missed.

The bird squawked and flew at Jeremy, flapping its wings and honking as it kicked its webbed feet at his face. Jeremy shut his eyes and tried to bat it away, but only succeeded in making the bird angrier. It hissed louder and reached forward with its neck, trying to bite at him.

Jeremy shrieked as it snipped at his arm and practically threw himself through Michael’s basement window in an effort to get away. The pillow that had been stuffed in the frame fell to the ground, and Jeremy latched onto the ceiling with one hand and dragged himself through. He clung to the drywall, the bird still snapping at his feet as he kicked blindly at it, trying to shoo it away.

Once fully inside, he sent out another web with his free hand, past the bird and out onto the lawn. The goose flinched backwards at the sudden movement, stretching out its wings with squawk that sounded suspiciously like an angry yell. Jeremy took his chance to reach with his foot, latching his toes against the glass through his fuzzy socks and slamming the window shut.

The bird jumped backwards, still honking from behind the glass, and Jeremy let his body relax for a moment, hanging from the ceiling by his fingers and toes as he watched the goose hiss outside from over his shoulder.

He hung there for a moment, his stomach still tense as he ran his left hand over his face, breathing hard and trying to make sense at _what the hell just happened_ . “Jesus _Christ._ Jesus- _fucking-”_

_“Jeremy?!”_

Jeremy snapped open his eyes and dropped from the ceiling, the reality of where he was rushing back to him as he hit the floor. He landed on his toes and held his hands out in front of him.

His sleeves hung loose from his arms, the fabric half-pushed up to his elbows, his hair mussed from the mask he had been wearing for most of the night, his chest still heaving with the adrenaline from the bird attack and the fact that this was all going terribly wrong. He yanked off his mask and shook away the hair that fell into his eyes. “Michael!”

Michael stood in front of him, dressed in dark gray sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt with some vintage soft drink logo fading across the chest. His face was a mixture of a thousand different emotions, each of them taking turns to flicker across Michael’s features. He looked terrible, exhaustion written in the bags under his eyes, worry having settled in his eyebrows. “You’re- Was that a-?”

Jeremy pushed his hands through his hair and let out a frustrated high-pitched whine at how _impossibly badly_ this was going. _“This isn’t how this was supposed to happen!”_

Michael looked at him, confused but expectant, but Jeremy couldn’t even find the words to explain. The two of them stood in silence, staring at each other, eyes wide. Jeremy’s mouth was dry, not knowing what to expect from this conversation. Michael’s toes curled into the carpet, his mouth opening and closing. Then, Michael clenched his jaw shut and nudged his glasses up his nose.  

Jeremy watched him, still frozen in place. He was still breathing heavily, his neck icy and urging him to run far, far away. Michael could punch him, or cry, or curse him out. He could tell Jeremy to never come back, or call the police and turn him in, or expose Spiderman’s identity to the world, and Jeremy would _let him._

Michael lunged at him. Jeremy flinched, his eyes squeezing shut as he waited for a fist to collide with his face, but Michael just grabbed him and pulled him into a hug.

Jeremy inhaled sharply, not quite believing what was happening. Michael had wrapped himself around Jeremy, one hand curling in the hair above Jeremy’s neck, the other gripping tightly around his waist. Gradually, he relaxed, letting himself breathe in Michael’s smell as the taller boy buried his face into the crook of Jeremy’s neck and murmured. “I can’t _believe_ you.”

The vibrations sent shudders running down Jeremy’s skin, and he slowly exhaled and crumpled into Michael’s grip. He brought his own arms up to wrap around Michael’s back, shutting his eyes against the tears pricking hot against his eyes. He rested his chin on Michael’s shoulder and breathed out, _“I’m so fucking sorry.”_

Michael inhaled deeply, then stiffened and pulled away. He shoved Jeremy’s chest, hard, and Jeremy fell a step backwards. Michael’s hands curled into fists at his side. _“_ You’re _Spiderman?”_

“Yeah.” Jeremy let out a shaky breath and nodded, terrified and relieved and trying to hide how much he was trembling. “I think it’s time for that talk.”

 

*            *            *

 

They were sitting face-to-face on Michael’s bed, cross-legged, their knees pressed together. Michael’s hands were wound in his lap, picking at the fabric of the Spiderman mask, and Jeremy clutched a pillow in his own lap and stared at Michael’s hands while he spoke.

Jeremy told him everything.

From Mr. Reyes and the cast party, to Christine’s training attempts, to the play. He told him about how he learned to climb on buildings and the awkward forty-five minutes he once spent trying to figure out how to shoot a web on _purpose._ He told him about his super healing, his enhanced strength, his heightened senses, how he _still_ got scared by how powerful he actually was and how afraid he was of somebody managing to use him as a weapon.

He told him how much he _loved_ being Spiderman, even with every terrible thing that had come from it. Told him about flying through the air and standing sideways on the wall of a skyscraper with nothing but the trust in his own powers to keep his feet planted on the side of the building. Told him about hanging upside from streetlights and bantering with petty criminals, knowing how easy it would be to beat them. He told him about the confidence that came with the suit, about how incredible it was to slip on the mask and become someone who _mattered._ He told him about the viral YouTube videos of him soaring through the streets and the memes and the Spiderman merchandise and making the cover of the New York Times.

He told him about how much he _hated_ being Spiderman, how much it scared him to slide out his window every night and how he glad he was to have the mask so nobody could tell when he was afraid. He told him about how he was nervous that he was beginning to rely too much on his powers. Told him about how he was afraid he was becoming a different person when he put on the mask, somebody that Jeremy didn’t even recognize. Told him about how terrifying it was to cling to the spire of the Empire State Building knowing the only reason he could do so was because of some chemically altered jungle juice that could theoretically stop working any minute.

He told him how he was basically flying blind and he had _no idea what he was doing_ , that it was a miracle that he had made it this far at all. He told him about the Hollaback girl video, about the endless Tweets and articles written about how his very existence caused more harm than good, no matter how hard Jeremy tried to prove them otherwise, no matter how many people Jeremy tried to save. He told him how he had no idea what to do, because they were the ones who demanded he help in the first place, and now they wouldn’t stop cursing his name, how none of it was _fair_ because Jeremy never asked to be Spiderman at all. _And, yeah, I know ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ and all, but sometimes I just wanna study for chemistry and not worry about who’s gonna die that night because I didn’t choose to go out, y’know?_

He told Michael about every encounter he’d ever had with the Squip. He told him about the bomb on the bridge, about how Christine had almost drowned in the Hudson, told him about his bruised ribs. He told him about commuting and how annoying it was to be second on the scene. He told him how hard it was to battle supervillains while high. Told him about leaping off the bridge and getting thrown through windshields and torn off suspension cables. He told him about showering and bandaging up and climbing into Michael’s bed that morning because Jeremy wasn’t strong enough _not_ to. He told him about he could be Spiderman for everybody else as long as it meant Jeremy could still be Player Two for him.

Michael’s knuckles had gone white as he gripped the mask, but Jeremy kept talking.

He told him about every lunch absence, every last-minute bail, every weird disappearance. He told him about skipping class to stop a crime, about failing chemistry because he couldn’t find the energy to study for a subject he fucking _hated_ between stopping criminals and attempting to sleep and making sure Michael didn’t hate him and trying to prevent the Squip from taking over the world.

He told him about Jenna being the Scream, about the Toxic Talkers, about the Tempest, about Rich’s fire powers and Jake’s weird perfection. He told him about how fucking _terrified_ he had been when he saw Michael with the camera. He told him about how he shouldn’t have stayed with him on the roof that night, but how he had been too selfish to stop the conversation. He told him about finding out Michael felt the same way he did, then talked about when he realized he couldn’t do anything about it because he didn’t want to start _anything_ with him on a lie. He told him about the kiss in the basement and the kiss in the practice room, about how he wanted it so badly but couldn’t let himself give in until Michael knew the truth, how he’d been weak enough to say yes even though he _knew_ he shouldn’t have. Told him about wanting to tell him everything right after the Port Authority attack, but instead ended up nearly dying.

He told him about telling his dad and how he felt like he was a freak in his own home afterwards. He told him about Dustin Kropp and about his anxiety and his Spider-sense, about how it made him immune to the Squip’s mind control but not to his abuse.

He told him about the bus at Port Authority. He told him about being unable to sleep because he kept reliving getting thrown through the sign, kept hearing the screams in his head, kept feeling the world fade out around him.

He told him what it felt like to die.

He told him about the thug with the gun and what it felt like to _want_ to die.

Jeremy talked for over an hour, and Michael stayed quiet through it all, the two of them lit in only the red and blue light from Michael’s lava lamps and plasma ball. Jeremy let him know everything he’d been wanting to tell Michael since day one, every small thing and every insane moment that came with being Spiderman, talked until his voice went rough and hoarse from exhaustion and overuse.

The clock on Michael’s bed slowly ticked to four in the morning but he didn’t say a word, not even when Jeremy realized he was on the verge of a panic attack and had to take a few minutes to focus on breathing in and out before terror consumed him.

Even then, Michael stayed quiet while Jeremy finally stuttered out, “And I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t- I _wanted_ to so badly. But I couldn’t- I couldn’t risk you getting hurt. _”_

Michael looked up at that, but Jeremy kept going, not moving his eyes away from Michael’s hands. 

“I thought about it every day. You were the first person I wanted to tell after the jungle juice thing happened. But I wanted- I wanted to impress you so I could _show_ you what I could do instead of just telling you, because it _is_ really fucking cool and of _course_ I wanted to tell you the second it happened. But then I started fighting crime. And the Squip became a thing. And I was so _worried_ about you getting hurt. I was so paranoid someone would use you, or hurt you, or- or _kill_ you to get to me, that I convinced myself that it was better if you never knew at all.”

Jeremy sniffed and rubbed his nose before continuing. “And then I- I kind of realized that I didn’t- when I figured out I liked you more than- more than, y’know. A friend. And when you told me on the roof that you felt the same. I. I didn’t do anything because I was afraid. I didn’t want to lie. I felt like a creeper when you told me but I couldn’t _stop_ myself because I was so- I was a coward. And then the Squip dropped the bus and I couldn’t do anything but _watch-_ But I’ve lied to you so much, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m _sorry._ I won’t ever do it again. And if you never want to talk to me again, that’s- that’s, well.”

He didn’t realize he had started crying until Michael pulled Jeremy’s hands into his own and began rubbing his thumbs across the insides of Jeremy’s wrists. Michael’s fingers traced Jeremy’s veins, right over the tiny ridges where his webs came from, and Jeremy cried harder. He was probably going to run out of tears, at the rate he was going.

“You almost _died,”_ Michael breathed. “What were you _thinking?_ ”

“I have to stop him,” Jeremy swiped at his nose with his shoulder, unwilling to draw his hands out of Michael’s grasp. “I’m the only one who can.”

“Jesus, Jeremy,” Michael whispered, pressing his fingers harder into Jeremy’s skin as if to ground him. “He’s a grown-ass man. With _billions of dollars_ behind him. You can’t be the only thing between him and world domination.”

Jeremy hummed and nodded, focusing more on the way Michael’s fingertips felt against the sensitive skin on his wrist. “I think the whole ‘billions of dollars’ thing means he’s actually got a pretty foolproof plan.”  

“Can’t you call the police? Or, like, the FBI?” Michael asked. “They’ve gotta have _something_ to stop him. It’s like, their _job.”_

Jeremy shook his head. “Once you’ve had the serum, he can mind control you into doing anything he wants. He can already move things with his mind. And control technology. The police can’t do jack _shit_ about that. And who would believe me anyway? I’m just a kid. By the time I got them to listen to me he’ll have Mount Dew’d half the planet.” Jeremy gave a watery smile, filled with sarcastic hope. “But he can’t touch me.”

“He can still throw you. With his _mind.”_

Jeremy shrugged. “He can’t make me want to kill anybody.”

“He- he can _do that?”_

“He did it at the play,” Jeremy muttered. “He mind controlled the whole cast. Christine and Chloe and Brooke and Rich. Everyone except for me. They were all gonna kill each other. They _wanted_ to kill each other.” Jeremy twisted his arms so his hands gripped Michael’s again.  “You were there, you saw what happened. I had to web everyone to the set and then fire extinguish them just to snap them out of wanting to _murder_ each other.”

“I still can’t believe that was _you._ You told me you had a stomach bug. _”_ Michael chewed on his bottom lip. “So, what, your plan is to just. Attack him? Throw yourself at him and hope for the best?”

“I- I don’t know,” Jeremy admitted. “I didn’t think I was gonna make it this far.”

Michael frowned, and pulled Jeremy into his lap, who moved forward and twisted around without protest. He bent his legs and rested his head against Michael’s chest while the taller boy snaked his arms around Jeremy’s middle. When he spoke, his chest vibrated against the back of Jeremy’s head. “There’s gotta be a better way than just letting him kick the shit out of you until he kills you. Like, an anti-serum, or-"

“Hey!” Jeremy defended. He tilted his head and looked up at Michael, who was still looking ahead and playing with their hands on Jeremy’s stomach. “I didn’t _let_ him do _anything._ He’s a super-powerful _supervillain_ with _-”_

“You died, man,” Michael said, quiet and thin, and Jeremy was wise enough to shut up. “Like. Four times, not to mention what happened before we- before we brought you to the hospital. The only reason you got out of there alive was because he _let_ you.”

Jeremy ducked his chin against his chest. Michael felt so warm behind him, and Jeremy felt the late hour in his bones, urging him to go to sleep right against Michael’s chest. “I punched him in the nose.”

Michael snorted. “You _what?”_

“Yeah. Made him bleed. I think I broke it.” Jeremy let out a hollow laugh. He had no idea what he was doing. He should be getting yelled at, or disowned, or something. They shouldn’t be talking about the injuries he’d managed to inflict on the tri-state area’s Resident Evil. “Right before he threw me through the sign.”

“I saw the video,” Michael said, and rested his chin on the top of Jeremy’s head, and Jeremy realized with a faint comfort that Michael had no idea what he was doing, either. “ _Uh-huh, this my shit. All the girls-”_

“Shut _up,”_ Jeremy groaned, rolling off Michael to lay next to him on the bed, but he was laughing. It felt light and airy in his belly, and Jeremy realized it was the first time he’d laughed properly in weeks. It felt unfamiliar, but he covered it up with a half-hearted, “I can’t believe you watched it _.”_

“Uh, of course I did?” Michael said, pushing his glasses up with the back of his hand. “It was the only thing on the internet for like, three days. I think my _grandma_ shared it, and she’s in the _Philippines.”_

“I didn’t think she’d even know how to open a new window.”

“Me neither! Though I mean, _speaking_ of windows…” he nodded across the room, towards the basement window that Jeremy had pulled himself through an hour ago. “Are you really one to talk? You just got chased in here by a _goose.”_

The banter rolled off their tongues because they didn’t know how _else_ to deal with whatever weight was between them, but the wit felt wrong, too forced, like both of them were trying too hard to pretend like everything was okay.

Except everything _wasn’t_ okay. Michael was once again offering the olive branch and silently asking Jeremy if he wanted to let it go. Just like he had in the practice room last week, just like when Jeremy had come over with bruised ribs, just like he always did whenever Jeremy hurt Michael and neither of them wanted to talk about it.

But this definitely needed to be talked about.

Jeremy twisted onto his stomach, burying his face in one of Michael’s pillows and letting the smell fill his lungs. He spoke into the cotton, his voice muffled. “You should be yelling at me.”

“Sorry, I don’t speak pillowtalk,” Michael said, and Jeremy felt the bed dip as he slid down next to him. “You’re gonna have to go with English instead.”

Jeremy turned his head to see Michael on his side next to him, staring at him from centimeters away. They were so close that Jeremy could feel Michael’s breath on his skin, and it made Jeremy want to lean forward and kiss him until all their problems disappeared.

 _No,_ Jeremy thought to himself. _Communication first. Kissing later. Hopefully. Maybe. Actually, this is a terrible idea all together, you should just apologize for breaking in and then run away as fast as possible-_

He swallowed, cutting off _that_ dark hole before it could dig itself any deeper, and repeated, “You should be yelling at me. I’d yell at you if you had told me you were- were Spiderman. Superheroes don’t just- they shouldn’t be _real._ And I _am one._ If I were you-”

“You’re not me,” Michael said quietly. “I don’t want to yell. You just spent an hour explaining everything to me. Isn’t that enough?”

Jeremy frowned. “No. Well, I mean, _yeah-_ but-”

“Do you _want_ me to yell at you?”

“I _deserve_ it!”

“So... you want _me_ to get mad at _you_ because you think it’s what you deserve?”

Jeremy sat up and leaned against Michael’s headboard, rubbing at his eyes, his heart picking up against his ribs, heat flooding through his veins. “I don’t know! I don’t _know,_ Michael! But don’t you think it’s worth talking about how I kept fucking _ditching_ you for the past nine months so I could get my ass kicked and then _not tell you about it_! Or about how-”

“Jeremy.”

“-how fucking _cool_ this all is and that I _hid it from you_ even though I _know_ how much this whole superhero thing means to you _-”_

“Jer-”

Jeremy’s hands moved in front of him, trying to get his point across. “And that I led you _on_ in the practice room because I _knew_ the Squip was gonna try and kill me that night, I _knew_ and I kissed you _anyway-”_

“Jeremy.”

“Or about how fucking _creepy_ it was of me to rescue you and bring you all the way home and then talk about how you felt _about_ me _with_ me even though you didn’t _know_ it was me and I-”

_“Jeremy.”_

“Or about how I’m a fucking _murderer_ and let all those people on the bus _die,_ or, or-” His breathing had picked up, too, his chest rising too quickly as he sucked in air, trying to think through just how badly he had fucked up. He was crying again. Great. _He_ was the one freaking out, and he’d been living with all of this for months already.

“Jeremy!” Michael grabbed Jeremy’s wrists and held his hands steady. Jeremy’s vision was blurry with tears, or panic, or both, and he fought to breathe through the panic attack that was telling him not to. “Breathe, buddy. C’mon. It’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t be freaking out,” Jeremy hitched, his hands trembling as he tried to find Michael’s grip with his own fingers, fear and anger and frustration piling in his throat. “You should- you should be- you always-”

“I always what?”

 _“You always say it’s okay!”_ Jeremy cried out. He didn’t care that it was edging near four in the morning, he needed Michael to _hear him._  “You always pretend like everything is fine. It’s _not_ fine. This is really, really, _really_ not fine!”

Michael watched him silently, tightening his grip on Jeremy’s hands with every word Jeremy said.

Jeremy continued, “And it hasn’t been fine, either. _I_ kissed _you_ in the practice room, but you _let_ me- even though I ran out on you after you kissed me in the basement, which is like, number _one_ on the list of things not to do after a first kiss!”

“Jeremy…”

“And- and after the bridge, with my ribs, and I came back _here_ and you- you yelled at me a _little_ but you let it go in like, ten minutes!” Jeremy ran his sleeve across his nose, wiping away snot and tears and not caring how much of a fucking _mess_ this was turning out to be. “And I’ve been ditching you _completely_ for months and I never even gave you a good _excuse_ . I mean, _nobody_ has that many stomach aches, Michael. Even- even _now_ you’re comforting _me_ and I shouldn’t- it shouldn’t-”

“I’ve already _forgiven_ you-”

“No!” Jeremy shouted. “You can’t keep _letting things go_ , Michael!”

 _‘Well what do you want me to do?”_ Michael yelled, anger finally, _finally_ breaking his calm demeanor. He gripped Jeremy’s hands hard, his fingers pressing tight enough against his wrists to leave bruises. _Good._ “Do you want me to detail just how fucking _terrifying_ it was to walk in on- on that _mess?_ To scream at you for how _dumb_ you are? Is _that_ what you want? _”_

 _“Yes,”_ Jeremy breathed, and Michael threw Jeremy’s hands back down to the bed. Jeremy did not move.

“You were.” Michael swallowed, but his voice was still loud and angry when he continued. “You were laying there with _blood bubbling from your mouth_ and you were vomiting and crying and just so _broken,_ and you. You looked at me and you didn’t even _see_ me. And you kept _talking_ like you weren’t gonna get the chance to say any of it later _._ And I don’t know what you remember or fucking _whatever,_ but it was the worst shit, Jeremy.”

“I remember,” Jeremy said, his voice hardly audible.

 _“God,_ I don’t know if that’s better or not. _”_ Michael shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. “Like- you had kissed me like, _twelve hours earlier._ That was literally the last fucking time I had seen you, and then I walk into your house and Jake is flipping the fuck out so I go upstairs and. There you are, dying on the floor. And I thought-” Michael’s voice broke. “I thought it was just gonna be _us_ that night, for the first time in fucking _ages_ . I’d bought _snacks._ I was gonna.”

He stopped abruptly. Jeremy waited while he gathered his thoughts, and watched him silently when he went on. “I was driving to your house and like. I was so fucking _happy,_ Jeremy. I’d spent the last ten years convincing myself that you and I would _never happen._ And then it was real! And like, it didn’t even- I didn’t even _care_ that you’d been acting shady ever since October. You kept telling me you’d tell me what was wrong and I _trusted_ that you would. Because I’ve been in love with you for _years_ and- and you’re my best friend, and I didn’t know how _not to_ trust you _._ I _still_ don’t know! _”_

Jeremy’s throat went tight, and Michael kept talking. He still sounded angry, but he talked as if Jeremy wasn’t even there. “When I showed up and saw you on the ground, Jeremy… It was the scariest fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. No contest. I mean like, _fuck_ Jenna Rolan for trying to kill me that one time, because that wasn’t great either, but. You were _dying._ You were like, ten seconds away from being just. Like. Gone. You wouldn’t _be_ here anymore. I didn’t- I don’t even know what to _do_ with that. Like, it’s a fact. And those are the words. But they don’t make any _sense.”_

Michael made a frustrated noise in his throat and dropped his head into his hands. “But you’re here anyway _._ And I’ve spent the past week thinking this-” he motioned between them, then dropped his hands back into his lap. “-wouldn’t ever _happen_ again. And I know I should’ve texted, or gone over, or something, but every time I thought about you, I just saw you on your carpet. Bleeding out with your stupid fucking broken arm and half in the Spiderman suit and crying. And I couldn’t _bring_ myself to-”

Michael trailed off. He hadn’t been looking at Jeremy, his eyes glued instead to the navy blue comforter on his bed, but now he finally looked up. His eyes were glazed with tears of his own, half hidden under the glare of the lava lamps on his glasses. He looked angry. He looked sad. He looked torn. Jeremy could identify.

And then Michael blinked once, angrily, like he was trying to stop it, before he started crying. Jeremy followed suit, swallowing the lump in his throat through his hiccupy tears as he dropped his head onto Michael's shoulder. Nine months of disappointment and anger and fear spread between them like dirty laundry that was finally airing clean. 

“Man,” Michael said, pulling away after giving giving Jeremy's hip a light squeeze. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a humourless smile, and he reached his fingers underneath his glasses to swipe away the tears. “We are so fucked up.”

“I love you,” Jeremy said, his voice thick from all the crying he had done, and the truth of it settled firm in his chest, warm and comforting in a way that made him think it wasn’t going to move anytime soon.

“Jesus- Jer, give a guy a _warning_ .” But Michael’s face was crumpling as he said it, with relief or hurt or awe, Jeremy didn’t know, and then Michael let out a  short, disbelieving laugh and was pulling Jeremy back towards him and saying back, “But _God,_ I love you too, you _idiot_.”

Their third kiss was nothing like the ones that came before it.

This one was intoxicating and desperate, teeth clacking hard against each other, lower lips bitten and noses smashed together in a desperate attempt to just get _closer._ Jeremy’s hands slid down Michael’s chest and twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt, ignoring the burning in his lungs in favor of swiping his tongue along Michael’s chapped lips and inhaling the other boy’s subsequent gasp.

Michael’s hands were rough on Jeremy’s shoulders as they pushed him down, and suddenly Michael was on top of Jeremy, climbing onto his lap and intertwining their hands before pulling them up to knock gently against the headboard above them. The wood felt cool against Jeremy’s knuckles, but Michael was so, so, warm, and he was _everywhere,_ and Jeremy never wanted to focus on anything ever again except the way Michael was leaning down on Jeremy’s body, the way Michael’s breath was ghosting hot against his skin, the way his soft smell of laundry detergent and body wash filled Jeremy’s lungs, the way everything felt like it was clicking right into place after having been rusted apart for far too long.

They broke away for air, and Michael hardly paused before he was shifting to straddle Jeremy and press open-mouthed kisses on his neck as if he still wasn’t quite convinced Jeremy wouldn’t go away again. Jeremy couldn’t do anything except grip Michael’s hair with his free hand and gasp, arching into the feeling with a heady whine, trying to assure him that he wasn’t going anywhere ever again because this was all he needed.

“You’re- _here_ ,” Michael breathed against Jeremy’s throat in between each kiss, the vibrations from his words enough to turn Jeremy’s spine to honey. “We’re okay. We’re- here. This is real _. Love- you- so- much.”_

Jeremy nodded, unable speak around the warm ache in his heart. He was so full of love and bone-crushing relief that Michael hadn’t shut him out entirely, that Michael had finally let himself get angry and not just blindly _forgive,_ that this time there was nothing lying dark and heavy between them while they pretended like nothing was wrong. Michael was right. This was real. They were here. They were okay. The two of them, together, just like they had always been.

Instead of saying any of it though, he settled for pulling Michael back up and pushing everything he was feeling into another bruising kiss.

Jeremy dragged their hands back down and slid his fingers out of Michael’s grip in favor of cupping his jaw. He canted his hips up, which drew a moan from Michael that Jeremy immediately made his mission to hear again, and again, and again.

Michael’s hands settled on Jeremy’s chest, warm, steady, present, and from the way he kissed Jeremy back, he understood everything that Jeremy was trying to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes:
> 
> -im the most extra person in the world and was having some serious trouble writing this chapter so for some inspiration i made some character boards for everyone in this fic on pinterest! they're still a work in progress and jeremy's is by far the most completed, but if you wanna check it out, you can go [here](https://www.pinterest.com/dilemmatheemma007/)  
> -geese are cool but still terrible. i once got swarmed by 30 of them bc i wouldn't give them my bagel. i had to SPRINT away and they were flying at me and squawking and ughfdj. i was so small. there were so many. im still scarred (note: no geese were harmed in the making of this fic. jeremy didn't hurt the goose, he just wanted it to go away)  
> -I SAW THE NEW SPIDERMAN MOVIE!!! GUYS!!!! im in love with tom holland and also it gaVE ME SO MANY IDEAS!!! u KNOW jeremy will be casually using his powers a lot more lmao.  
> -boys with feelings!! communication!!! i don't really think michael is as codependent as tumblr makes him out to be, but he's definitely a lot cooler with jeremy doing shitty things to him than he should be, (hint: it's bc he loves him) and i tried to address that here.  
> -michael is taller. this isn't up for discussion. love u  
> -my tumblr is @ danisnotofire.tumblr.com!! please come talk to me about these dumb boys!!! send me ur au ideas!! ur headcanons!! anything!!! i'll take any of it  
> -comments and kudos are appreciated and read and loved more than you will ever know!!!<33


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeremy heere's day off (alternatively titled: we're getting the gang back together!) (shoutout to debi @debusya.tumblr.com for entertaining my various screaming while i battled with this chapter)

Jeremy never realized how much he hated his alarm until it started blaring in his ear, the sharp xylophone and skull-rattling vibrations dragging him to consciousness what felt like only minutes after he’d managed to fall asleep. Groaning, he fumbled around the pillow he’d been cuddling to smash his phone into oblivion, only to have someone catch his wrist and stop him before he could.

“Don’t smash your phone,” the person said, their voice low and warm. “It never did anything to you.”

A fading burn scar on Jeremy’s thigh said otherwise, but that was mostly the Squip’s fault anyway for hyper-heating it with his weird mind powers, and Jeremy was way too tired to explain any of _that,_ so he chose not to say anything at all.

“Wanna sleep,” Jeremy mumbled instead, pulling his hand out of their grip so he could go back to bed. It was dark, and he was very warm, and Jeremy burrowed his face back into the softness of his pillow in order to drown out the noise of the alarm. “Turn it _off_.”

“Snooze sounds good,” the disembodied voice whispered, and Jeremy vaguely wondered if he should be concerned about someone giving orders in his bedroom at such an ungodly hour. But then Jeremy’s pillow moved to shut off the phone, and the alarm fell blissfully quiet, taking with it any qualms he might have had about strangers in his bed.

A hand fell on Jeremy’s head. It stayed still for a long moment, kind of awkwardly, before it started threading its fingers through his hair. Jeremy made a contented noise, wrapping himself tighter around the pillow and letting his body relax into the warmth of the comforter once again. He’d gone so long without sleep that he couldn’t remember anything but how good it felt to not have to _think_ about anything.

But Jeremy’s neck was tingling again, a gentle reminder that something wasn’t right. Reluctantly, he squinted open his eyes and blinked away the bleariness. The low-lit room swam into focus, and he dimly registered the red and blue lava lamp light oozing on the basement walls, slowly recognized the gentle whir of a GameCube that hadn’t been properly shut off, and then finally processed the gentle rise and fall of Michael’s stomach against Jeremy’s cheek.

Wait.

“Wha-?”  Jeremy jolted awake, startled, and sat up, pulling himself away from the hand that had been working against his scalp. This wasn’t _his_ bedroom, that wasn’t a pillow, this was- _“Michael?”_

And then last night hit him like a bus. Coming home from the hospital, his dad avoiding him, crying in his bedroom before going out in his sad makeshift costume, almost getting shot, crying into Christine’s shoulder, the goose, the conversation he’d had with Michael, crying into _Michael’s_ shoulder, the _kiss-_.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Michael said, looking up from his phone and interrupting Jeremy’s rising panic with a nervous grin that shut down his brain entirely. “You’re an octopus when you sleep. I’ve had to pee for like, two hours but your superpowered _tentacle grip_ kept me, like, super stuck.”

Jeremy felt his ears burn as he sat up, and rubbed his palms hard against his eyes in an effort to hide the blush that was forcing itself across his face. His subconscious had used his strength to literally keep Michael prisoner while he’d slept. “Oh, _God-_ that’s- I’m sorry. _”_

“I didn’t exactly _mind_. Minus the whole bladder thing.” Michael reassured him, which didn’t do anything to help Jeremy’s blush. “Gotta say, though. In all the times I imagined this, I never thought you’d be the cuddler.”

“You- you _imagined_ us?” Jeremy asked, his voice pitched slightly too high, still a little too dazed from sleep to comprehend that Michael had probably been joking until the words were already out of his mouth. “I mean, never mind, that’s probably not what you-”

“Dude,” Michael interrupted. “Seriously? I’ve been half in love with you since like, that Weird Al concert we saw in _middle school_ . I’ve been imagining us sleeping together since the seventh grade.” Michael paused, then dragged a hand down his face when he realized what he just said.  “We’re _also_ going to just pretend I never said that last part, for obvious reasons, because Jesus _Christ_.”

He slid down the bed, pausing for a long moment before shifting so he could rest his head on Jeremy’s stomach. Michael looked up at him, a silent _is this okay?_ Jeremy just nodded and tried not to focus on how close Michael was to the other parts of his body that also, unfortunately, seemed to be waking up.  

“Weird Al?” Jeremy replied, suddenly fixated on the warm tinge that was licking itself down Michael’s neck and across his collarbones and below the neckline of his black t-shirt in the dim light of the basement. Jeremy placed a hand on the curve of Michael’s shoulder, tracing his fingertips along the dips of his collarbone. A warm glow settled in his stomach, still amazed that he was allowed to touch after looking for so long. “For real?”

Michael went even redder at Jeremy’s touch. “Shut up, that concert was totally _your_ idea-”

“No, no, no, I know, I just- that long?” Jeremy asked, a little bit in awe. _“Really?_ How did I not pick up on _that_ ? _”_

“I wasn’t exactly trying to make it obvious,” Michael mumbled. He sat up to face him, and Jeremy immediately missed his warmth. Michael reached over and fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand. He slid them onto his face, and his voice was light when he said, “You mean you _weren’t_ trying to woo me by having your dad chauffeur us to the BergenPAC? You’re _kidding_.”

Jeremy ducked his head, remembering. Maybe it was the early hour, maybe it was the leftover emotions from last night, or the underlying itch to make sure he never lied to Michael ever again, but Jeremy couldn’t stop himself from saying, “It was Christmas last year, for me. Right after me and my dad came back from the movies and you made a big deal of coming over to eat Chinese food with us afterwards because I’d texted you how I was still pissed that I’d had to _convince_ him to put pants on for the theatre. And you showed up at the door and you- uh. You had snow in your hair. And you started telling us about how you nearly crashed your car into the basketball net outside my house because the Cruiser doesn’t have four wheel drive, and I just remember realizing that you actually _do_ celebrate Christmas, but you came to my house anyway. Just because I was annoyed at my dad.”

When he looked up again, it was to see that Michael had moved himself even closer, so that his knees were almost pressing against Jeremy’s side. He had an odd look on his face, and Jeremy’s heart stuttered at how softly Michael was looking at him, but he forced out a lame, “And it, um. Yeah.”  

“ _That-_ that was it?” Michael said, and his voice sounded funny. “I- I remember that. My mom almost grounded me because I ditched the whole Mell clan to go hang out with you. I think she was afraid my crazy great-uncle would think you were trying to convert me, or something.”

“Yeah, it’s- it was stupid,” Jeremy felt his cheeks heat up for the infinite time that morning. He’d only been awake for like, ten minutes and he’d already blushed more in front of Michael today than he had in the past twelve years of knowing him. Communication: 1; Jeremy: 0.  He didn’t think they were supposed to be at war. “Sorry we can’t all be as romantic as Weird Al.”

“No! No, it’s not stupid. It’s, uh.” Michael nudged his glasses up his nose with his knuckle. “Dude, I would’ve ditched Christmas dinner _years_ ago if I’d known. But… better late than never? _Super_ better late than never.”

“Does that apply to everything?” Jeremy blurted out before he could stop himself. He bit his lip, blinking rapidly and regretting saying it the second he opened his mouth. He shouldn’t have asked. They had been having a _moment,_ and Jeremy had ruined it again, with his inability to focus on anything but making sure they were good, that whatever _this_ was between them, that it wasn’t based on faulty ground. They had to do this. They were _supposed_ to do this.  “I mean, uh. About last night, and the whole. Um. Spiderman thing. I know I said it before but I’m still-”

“Jeremy,” Michael said, and Jeremy froze, trying hard not to meet his eyes even though they were inches apart. “What kind of angsty superhero _are_ you? No, scratch that, what kind of _teenager_ are you?”

“I- what?” His gaze jerked back up to Michael’s. He hadn’t been expecting _that._

“I mean, like, do you _enjoy_ talking about your feelings?” Michael raised his eyebrows. “‘Cause if you do, and if it makes you happy or whatever, well, then I’m all for it. But I _know_ you, and I figure we’ve made it this far without dumping every emotion we’ve ever felt on each other.”

 _“_ I- _What,”_ Jeremy repeated, sputtering. “We’re supposed to- to _talk_ about things like this! Communication is healthy, and important, or mature, or _something-”_

“Well that’s stupid,” Michael said. “Since when have _either_ of us done anything we’re _supposed_ to do?”

“But it’s _important,”_ Jeremy wheedled.

“I know it is.” The other boy pulled Jeremy’s hands into his own. “I’m not saying it’s not, _Jesus,_ because _obviously_ there is some serious shit that we still gotta deal with. I’m just saying that, like, it’s not as if we have ten minutes to put everything on the table and then deal with whatever we put down.” He linked his fingers between Jeremy’s and motioned their hands between them. “I’m not _going_ anywhere, Jeremy.”

Jeremy didn’t say anything. Michael ran his thumbs over Jeremy’s wrists, who tried to focus on the feeling instead of the sudden mess of thoughts that had appeared consisting of every single scenario that could invalidate Michael’s words.

“What if,” Michael gnawed on his lip. “What if we just took it day by day? You’ll- you’ll, like, keep me in the know, and I promise I won’t just say everything’s okay all the time. We’ll just, I dunno. _Talk._ I don’t think us _communicating_ has to be a one-time thing, or whatever.”

“I- I. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds- good.” Jeremy furrowed his brow, searching Michael’s gaze, but he didn’t seem to be anything but earnest, albeit slightly uncomfortable. Michael had never been the one to overshare, _clearly,_ if his long-standing _completely secret_ crush on Jeremy was anything to go by. “Promise you won’t keep everything bottled up, though?”

Michael linked their pinkies together and looked Jeremy right in the eye. “Promise.”

Jeremy’s face split into a soft smile. Michael was right. They’d been best friends before this, and they were best friends now, too. This was familiar territory. This, Jeremy could handle. “Okay.”

His eyes flickered to Michael’s mouth, wanting to kiss him but not knowing if he should. He definitely wanted it, and Michael seemed super into it, but it was still a little awkward crossing the jump from best friends to- to _this._ He’d wanted this for so long and still couldn’t quite believe that he could _have_ it. Michael, though, (thank _God_ for Michael), just followed his gaze with a shy smile and pulled Jeremy closer.

He tasted like morning breath, but that didn’t stop Jeremy from shifting to sit on Michael’s legs and lift his hands to cup his jaw, deepening the kiss. Michael smiled into it and only broke away to knock his forehead against Jeremy’s.

And then Jeremy’s phone alarm went off for the second time, its shrill scream sending Jeremy jerking apart with a surprised yelp. Michael scrambled to shut it off while a laugh bubbled out of Jeremy’s throat.

“Jesus,” Jeremy snorted, letting his head fall into the crook of Michael’s shoulder, who moved his hands to the small of Jeremy’s back. “ _School._ I forgot. We’re gonna be late.”

“It’s six-thirty in the morning,” Michael said, his breath warm against Jeremy’s ear. A shiver went down Jeremy’s spine. “We’ll be fine. Tom Cruiser can get us there in seven minutes flat. I’ve timed it.”

Jeremy grudgingly pulled away and rolled off Michael to flop on the bed. “I still need to shower. Also, I should probably get there early so I can like, talk to the office about missing a week of school.”

“Sounds like a lot of effort.” Michael hesitated. “How ‘bout we just skip?”

Jeremy snorted. “Yeah, okay. My chem final’s supposed to be in three days and I’m one missed homework away from failing that class, not to mention _every other class_ I didn’t show up to for a week, but yeah, let’s just not go.”

“No, I’m being serious!” Michael insisted. “What’s one more day gonna do? You’ve already got the hospital excuse, nobody’s expecting you back anyway. And, I mean, we’re friends with a _squad of superheroes._ Can’t Brooke and Chloe just, like, y’know. Talk them into pushing your final back, or something?”

Jeremy rolled his eyes and forced himself out of the bed. “I’m not gonna make them use their powers for my personal gain just because _I_ couldn’t find the time to study for the stupid test.”

“Hey,” Michael said, moving to stand on his knees as Jeremy gathered the pants he’d kicked off sometime during the night. “First off, you were _saving the world._ People have definitely used less to get out of worse. Second, don’t you get an extension anyway because you were absent for so long? It’s not as if you’ve been _faking_ being hurt. You could probably take it after school ends.”

 _If I make it til then,_ Jeremy thought, but said out loud, “It’s not like I can tell them I’m Spiderman.”

“No, tell them what you told the hospital. Say you got hurt and missed a week of school, so you should get an extra week to make up for it. Which, for the record, is _true,”_ Michael said, barreling on, climbing off the bed to gather his own clothes. “And _thirdly,_ not to like, be that guy, but you’ve been _seriously_ slacking on best friend duties. Not to _mention,_ boyfriend duties, though I’ll give you a pass on that one. What’s the saying? Dicks before Squips?”

“Are we?” Jeremy asked, gripping his jeans and half-afraid to look up. “Boyfriends, I mean. Not dicks. I mean, I know-”

Michael’s neck went a little red. “Yes? Maybe? I mean, uh, obviously you can say _no_ and all, but, uh-”

“You’d want me as a boyfriend?” Jeremy said, and there went his voice again, doing that dumb thing where it made him sound like a prepubescent child. “Even after-?”

“Jeremy,” Michael interrupted, and Jeremy lifted his head to see Michael standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a black t-shirt and cassette tape patterned boxers. He placed his hands on Jeremy’s shoulders, grounding him. “If you want communication, here it is: I want you to take me on that date. With pizza. And slushies. And getting high, preferably with more making out and less you running out to go be the Actual Fucking Saviour of the Universe. And I’ve been waiting since _seventh grade_ and still can’t really believe this is actually happening _,_ so can we _pretty please_ skip school today?”

Jeremy bit back a smile, but he could feel it warming up his eyes. He had to admit it sounded nice. His whole body ached for the chance to be the teenager he actually was. “Am I terrible person if I say yes?”

Michael grinned, dropping his hands and turning to rifle through his dresser for some pants. “Nah. I think it makes you a totally normal high school junior making a totally normal bad choice in order to make his brand-new, _super-hot_ boyfriend hella happy.” He looked up, a mischievous smile dancing across his otherwise determined features. “I’ll even ask Brooke and Chloe to talk to the office for you. I’ve heard they can be _very_ convincing. If a little terrifying.”

“Okay, _fine_. But I’m still not asking them to push back the test. I’ll just- I’ll figure something out.” Jeremy rubbed his wrists hesitantly. “You think they’ll agree to Toxic Talk our teachers just so we can skip class?”

“They _better.”_ Michael paused, smirking as he unlocked his phone. “If anything, I’d say they owe me one.”

 

*              *              *

 

So they skipped school.

Brooke and Chloe agreed to Toxic Talk the office in exchange for meeting at Starbucks after school, and Christine swore she’d bring Jeremy’s homework even for the classes they didn’t have together. Rich and Jake just sent their fair share of emojis that Jeremy chose to interpret as a good sign.

Jeremy was standing in the bathroom, waiting for the shower water to warm up, trying to figure out what to text his dad that wouldn’t end in complete disaster.

The mirror in front of him had long since steamed up when he finally settled for: _michael picked me up early for school so i could catch up on schoolwork. sorry for rushing out w/o saying goodbye! :x_

He almost hoped he would yell at him for lying, or call him back and ask where he’d been all night, but all his dad sent in reply was a yellow thumbs up emoji and then, after a few minutes of Jeremy watching the grey ellipses bubble appear and disappear, a short: _Might not be back for dinner. Left a 20 on the counter._

It wasn’t an angry radio silence. Just an awkward one that Jeremy had no idea how to handle.

So he bit back his disappointment and put his phone on the counter before undressing completely and stepping into the tub.

Jeremy washed his hair with Michael’s shampoo, inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla that clouded in the steam, and finally let himself believe that things possibly, just maybe, might end up okay.

After the shower, he toweled off his hair and pulled on his clothes from yesterday. He made his way upstairs, to where Michael was making coffee with the practiced ease of someone who did it every day.

He looked up from digging through a cabinet when Jeremy appeared, and offered him a soft smile before scooping a spoonful of coffee grounds into the filter basket. “Hey. So, we’re out of half-and-half, but we do have _copious_ amounts of 2%. Seriously, my mother is the size of a small capybara and my dad is lactose intolerant, there is no possible way to consume this much milk.”

“She takes her bone health very seriously.” Jeremy hopped up onto the counter, letting his legs swing gently against the dishwasher. “Are you parents still in Peru? Please say yes. Tell me they didn’t hear me screaming at a goose at three in the morning.”

“Japan, actually. Left two days ago. But don’t worry,” Michael snorted as he started rooting through the freezer for something resembling breakfast food. “They’ve, uh, definitely heard worse things coming from down there.”

The coffee maker made a noise before Jeremy could respond to _that,_ signaling the coffee was ready. Michael pulled down a box of Eggos, clanged two mugs onto the counter next to Jeremy’s thigh, and started talking again before Jeremy could come up with something resembling a coherent thought. “So we’ve got frozen waffles, and I think I could probably scrounge up some Frosted Flakes or something, if you want.”

“Waffles sound good,” Jeremy said, his mind still caught on what noises Michael could possibly have been making in his bedroom. He held out his mug, and Michael poured the coffee in and then went to put the Eggos in the toaster oven. Jeremy watched him slide in the waffles, then added, “Dude, you’d make a killer housewife.”

“You think?” Michael said, twisting the timer and wiping his hands on a dish rag. He moved over to Jeremy once again and nudged open his legs, standing between them and placing his hands on either side of Jeremy’s hips. Jeremy's eyes flickered from Michael's eyes to his mouth, inches away from his own, and tried to remember how to think. Michael continued, a smirk ghosting his lips, “Me, the stay-at-home mom who does Pilates and makes all our money by reselling things on Amazon like in that documentary we watched. You, Spiderman, and that’s it.”  

The sun had risen and was seeping in through Michael’s kitchen windows. The early morning light caught in Michael’s hair, still messy from sleep, and reflected in his eyes behind the glasses, warming his skin beneath the golden beams. The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled and leaned in, pressing his nose lightly against Jeremy’s. His breath ghosted against Jeremy’s mouth when he continued, “I could get behind that.”

Jeremy’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t do anything except close the distance.

The kiss was slow, the idea of it still new to them, but their lips slotted together as easily as if it were an old habit. Michael tasted like coffee as he licked his way into his mouth, and Jeremy was so, so, unbelievably done for.

They broke apart a few minutes later when the toaster dinged, and they fell into the easy routine of getting plates and pouring syrup and making dumb jokes and coming up with even dumber ideas, like daring each other to eat forkfuls of butter over loud and bright laughter that filled the kitchen. They played footsie and drank their coffee and stole each other’s food. It was familiar, it was effortless, and it felt like home.

After breakfast, they washed off their dishes and pulled on their shoes. They tried to look for Michael’s keys, except they getting distracted by the opportunity to press quick kisses against each other’s knuckles, or neck, or mouth, but eventually they managed their way to Michael’s car and down the street, towards the mall.

They had spent the day at walking through stores and picking out items neither of them would ever buy. Michael spent an hour in Spencer’s Gifts, bugging out over the formidable collection of retired soft drinks while Jeremy simultaneously tried to avoid looking both at the wall of garish sex toys as well as the suspicious glare of the man behind the counter.

After Jeremy had managed to drag Michael away from the shelves of old soda, they wandered into the Converse store, where Michael almost talked Jeremy into treating himself to a new pair of gray-high tops, until Jeremy realized he only had twenty-three dollars to his name. They ducked out of the store, snickering but embarrassed at having to leave the shoes at the counter , and didn’t look up until the shoe store was out of sight.  

At a kiosk a few stores later, Jeremy bought Michael a patch of Pokey from Pac-Man, and Michael took the plastic bag reverently and said, “I’d marry you right now, if I could.”

Jeremy felt his ears heat up. “You just like me ‘cause I buy you nice things.”

“Not true,” Michael said, carefully rolling the bag up and slipping into his backpack. “I’m the moneymaking housewife, remember? Me and my Amazon resale business are _thriving._ Now let’s go get lunch.”

They ordered their usual, (one penne slice and one buffalo chicken slice, then split into halves and traded, just like always), and after they paid it was Jeremy’s turn to take Michael somewhere.

Which brought them to the roof of Paramus Park Mall. Jeremy had slung them up after surprisingly few complaints from Michael despite his awful fear of heights, and they’d been sitting against a service door while they talked. Next to them, the domed glass ceiling arched imposingly and glinted in the sunlight.

Jeremy demonstrated his ability to cling to walls by pressing his hand against the concrete behind them and letting Michael try and pry him off, to no avail. He explained how Jake thought it was something to do with an electrical current or bio-magnetism, and that Jeremy had no idea how it worked, he was just glad he never slipped.

Michael told him about something he’d read about a cop who had gotten electrocuted in the head by a stun gun, and how it had fucked up his brain and given him a seizure and memory issues. They’d spent the next twenty minutes debating if it was the same type of electrical current that let Jeremy stick to walls before the conversation came to an end.

Now, Jeremy was on his last bite of pizza, while Michael was still picking at the leftover pasta pieces in comfortable silence. They still had another half an hour or so before when they’d promised to meet the others at Starbucks, and they were passing the time by people-watching through the glass ceiling.

The day was, for the first time in almost nine months, unerringly, completely, utterly, blissfully _normal_. Jeremy had almost forgotten what it felt like.

“So...” Michael dragged out the vowel, popping another piece of penne into his mouth. “Uh. Can I ask you something?”

Jeremy hummed around his last piece of buffalo chicken. “Go for it, man.”

Michael pried another penne noodle out of the pizza’s cheesy grip. “What’s your plan for the Squip?”

Jeremy swallowed. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Um.”

“I mean, you can’t just launch yourself at him again, because we all know how well _that_ went.”

“Actually, uh,” Jeremy muttered, wringing his hands in his lap. “That actually, um. Went. According to plan?”

Michael’s voice was flat. “What.”

Jeremy moved the paper plate off his lap and didn’t meet Michael’s gaze. “We had to see what he was capable of. I was the only one he wouldn’t be able to mind-control into submission, or whatever. And we figured the best way to see him use his powers was to, uh, y’know. Piss him off.”

“Your plan was to _let_ him _kill_ you? That was the best you could come up with?”

“Well, when you put it that way-”

“Jesus, Jeremy,” Michael said, placing his own paper plate aside and shifting so he was sitting on his heels. “How did you survive this long _without_ me?”

“Well,” Jeremy shrugged a shoulder and let his head knock against the wall behind them. “Now I don’t have to?”

Michael made a noise in his throat. “Okay. That’s- that’s true. That’s. Definitely something.”

Jeremy shoved him gently. “Shut _up._ It’s not like you have any better ideas.”

“Well, I’ve only had ten seconds to think about it.” Michael chewed on his lip, considering. “Though I am, like, ninety percent confident in my abilities to come up with something better than ‘piss off the supervillain until he is driven to murder’.”

Jeremy groaned and wiped his fingers on his jeans. “My plan right now is to like, get stronger, I guess. Somehow. And then hopefully he won’t be able to throw me once I’m latched onto something.”

“No offence dude, but you caught a fucking _bus_. I don’t think strength is your problem.”

Jeremy blinked through the memory of the people on said bus that flashed behind his eyes when Michael mentioned it. “I don’t really have any other options.”

“That’s not true,” Michael chided. He stuffed their plates into the paper bag, then crumpled it up. “If it’s not a strength thing, then it’s gotta be a powers thing. He shouldn’t be able to just pull you off a wall like that, not if you’re able to stick so easily.  He’s gotta be interfering with the way you cling to things. If you can figure out how to stop that, then you can probably figure out how to stop his freaky mind-powers all together.”

Jeremy snorted. “And how do you suggest I figure that out in a _week?”_

“I dunno,” Michael said, his shoulders slumping. Jeremy’s phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket while Michael spoke. “But _we_ will figure something out. We have to.”

“I just wish it wasn’t so fucking _difficult_ to be the good guys,” Jeremy said, making a noise of frustration as he opened up the text and read it. “Oh. The others just got out of school, we should probably go meet them before they yell at us for standing them up.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, standing up and tossing the paper bag ball between his hands. He paused. then let out a short, nervous laugh. “Uh, wait. Just- uh. How do we get down?”

Jeremy looked up from his phone, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Do you trust me?”

 

*              *              *

 

The ride to Starbucks went quickly, if a little jerky due to Michael’s leftover adrenaline from the disaster that was Jeremy’s idea to web them four stories down the side of the mall.

(“I can’t believe you just- you just- fuckin’- _belayed_ me down the side of Paramus Park,” Michael half-shrieked as they stumbled to his car. Michael had started freaking out the second they stepped off the building ledge, and Jeremy had been trying to calm him down ever since. “Jesus. Jesus _Christ. heights-phobia,_ Jeremy- how do you- How the fuck haven’t you _died_ yet _?”_

“Shh, _shh_ oh my God, dude I am so sorry- I had you, I promise, please stop screaming!” Jeremy hissed, looking around to see if anybody had overheard them. “You were okay with it before? When I saved you in the city! Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”  

“That was before I knew it was _you!”_ Michael screeched. “Spiderman was infallible to me! That was the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me until I realized that you were the same person who fell down the stairs at school because you tripped over a _ladybug!_ That’s a little too fuckin’ close to _fallible_ for me. _"_ )  

They walked into Starbucks twenty minutes later, Michael still looking a little pale and clutching Jeremy’s hand like it was the only thing keeping him rooted to the ground. Jake waved them over to a table near the window, where Rich was sitting with the largest and grossest Frappuccino Jeremy had ever seen. It had two straws, and Rich was drinking from one so fast that Jeremy could see the drink lowering in the cup.

“‘Sup, homeslices!” Jake asked, standing up to pull Michael into a bro-hug before offering his fist for Jeremy to bump his own lightly against. He beckoned to the seats, which they took.“The girls said they had to pick something up before they came. But we wanted to talk to you on our own, anyway!”

“Talk- to us?” Jeremy asked, immediately wary. The last time they had _talked,_ Jeremy had walked in on the aftermath of them fucking. “About what?”

“Christine said you told him. You did, right? About, y’know? _Us?_ ” Rich stage-whispered, his lisp sending spit spraying across Jeremy’s cheek. Jeremy shoved him away, trying to wipe his ear clean, but gave a small nod. Michael looked between all of them, the clearest _what the fuck_ expression Jeremy had ever seen written on his face.

“Well, Michael’s one of us now,” Jake said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. He leaned forward and stared at him. “You know what that means.”

Michael blinked. The hair on Jeremy’s arms raised.

Rich popped off the straw and wiped away the remnants of whipped cream from his chin. “We gotta _christen_ him. Make it official!”

Jeremy had never been more confused in his life.

“Um,” Michael said, looking between Jake and Rich. “You guys know I don’t _actually_ have superpowers, right?”

“Having powers is only half the game, my dude.” Rich grinned, elbowing Michael in the stomach. “We don’t fight crime either! I could probably spontaneously combust at any second, so I usually stay, y’know. Behind the scenes.”

“ _Yeah,_ bro!” Jake laughed. They high fived. Jeremy frowned. Michael was looking at him, but he didn’t have any answers. “But, he’s right. Superpowers are a state of _mind._ You picking up what I’m puttin’ down? _”_

“Not at all,” Michael said. “But keep going.”

Rich stood up and stood behind Michael, gripping his shoulders as if to psych him up. He nodded at Jake, who had pulled out his phone. “Jakey D, you ready?”

“You know it, Richie-Rich.”

“ _Awesome_ ,” Rich grinned. He pitched his voice lower, barely audible over the thrum of the coffee shop. “Alright. Legend has it there were once a ragtag group of actors, bound together by nothing but their love of attention. Or an actual appreciation for theatre, if you’re Canigula.”

 _Help me,_ Michael mouthed to Jeremy. He was trying to weasel his way out of Rich’s grasp, but his grip seemed to be iron-tight. Jeremy looked at him helplessly.

“Uh,” Jeremy asked. “Where is this going?”

“Don’t interrupt!” Rich yelled. A woman at the table next to them gave them an odd look. Jake beamed at her, and she blushed before tucking her hair behind her ear and returning to her book.

Rich continued, “Anyway. This seemingly random group of misfits became irreversibly bound together after a gnarly dose of jungle juice spiked by a now-imprisoned drama teacher with an affinity for both Hot Pockets and _evil_.”

Rich nodded to Jake, who slid the massive Frappucino in front of Michael. He continued, “That evil jungle juice, as jungle juice is prone to do, backfired as soon as it met the likes of these misfits, leaving them with not only super hangovers, but also super _powers._ And so, after a series of bad choices with good intentions, a weird adjustment period, and _way_ too fuckin’ many close calls-” Here, Jake let his phone fall flat on the table, his finger hovering over a button. Rich pulled the drink closer to Michael. “You, Michael Mell, are finally a Subway Soup. _”_

“A what now?” Michael asked. He finally twisted out of Rich’s iron grip and turned around in his chair to look at him.

“Oh my God,” Jeremy said, letting his head fall into his hands.

“A Subway Soup!” Rich repeated.

“Or Hero!” Jake added. He leaned over the table to pick up the frap, which Jeremy was pretty sure was literally cursed, and lift it up to Michael’s mouth. “We added you to the group chat. Now drink.”

Michael drank. Jeremy groaned.

“Also,” Jake mentioned. “Congrats on finally doin’ the deed! Didn’t think you had it in you, Heere.”

Michael choked on the drink. Jeremy felt his ears burn.

Rich grabbed Jeremy by the shoulders and shook him. “Yeah! Join the crew! The bro-bangin’ club! The bi-nformation session, if you will. The homosexual hang-”

“I get it, Rich,” Jeremy muttered weakly. From now on, he would just go through life with zero expectations on how things in his life would happen. Maybe then things would start making sense.

Michael had gone very red, but was saved from saying anything by the arrival of Brooke, Christine, and Chloe. The three girls burst into the Starbucks and clamored down into seats around them, exchanging greetings and welcomes to Michael. They’d gotten the notification that he’d been added to the group chat. Chloe was holding a small box, wrapped in silver wrapping paper with a white bow. She placed it carefully on the table in front of her.

“What is _that,”_ she said in greeting, raising an eyebrow at the ungodly mixture of chocolate and whipped cream.

“Initiation,” Jake said. Chloe frowned.

“Sorry we’re late!” Brooke chirped. “We had to pick something up before we came. Michael, I saw you were added to the group chat? We’re so sorry for not telling you earlier, but your boy had us on a tight chain.”

“I did not-!” Jeremy began, but was interrupted by someone shrieking his name.

“Jeremy!” Christine practically tackled him into a hug, and he patted her hair awkwardly as she squeezed him tight. She pulled away, beaming. “I’m so glad you’re okay! God, I was so worried all last night, I practically cried when I heard you guys were skipping school. I know I told you to go talk to him, and I _knew_ it would work out, but I mean, I kept thinking ‘what if?’, you know? But how did it go? It went well, right? Tell me it went well.”

Jeremy couldn’t help but smile. He’d missed her. He’d missed hanging with all of them, even if had only been a week. “It’s okay. It worked out pretty well, actually. We’re, uh. Together now?”

He looked at Michael nervously, who was giving him a soft smile from the other end of the table. He nodded, and something in Jeremy’s chest relaxed.

“ _Finally_ !” Christine sat up in her chair, tucking her hair behind her ears. It was decorated in a variety of butterfly clips, and she looked almost proud of him. “Because you really deserve something good in your life.” She turned to Michael, who raised a wary eyebrow at her. “Also, Michael, I want you to know that I _did_ yell at him when he ran out on you that one time. He was _horrible_ to you. You didn’t deserve that, and I kept trying to go make him talk to you, but um. We got a little sidetracked? I’m really sorry. But are you guys communicating now? Talking is super important in any relationship, especially between boys-.”

 _“Christine,”_ Jeremy screeched, dragging his hands down his face and staring at her between his fingers. “Why didn’t you give Rich and _Jake_ this talk?”

“You really think either of them have a problem in saying what’s on their minds?”

“It’s true,” Rich supplied. “You guys  have been making heart eyes at each other since before heart eyes were a _thing,_ but you never fuckin’ _did_ anything. It was disgusting, seeing you two moon over each other like-”

“Uh, thanks?” Michael interrupted, and looked at Jeremy with a look that told him he was holding back a laugh. “And yeah, don’t worry, we’re cool now. We’re, uh. _Communicating,_ as they say. _”_

“Good.” Christine said, and sat back in her chair.

“Okay!” Chloe leaned forward and clapped her hands, bringing everybody’s attention to her. “Michael, sweetie. We are so glad you’re apart of this family now. Brooke was right, Jeremy _really_ didn’t want us telling you anything, in case you got hurt, or whatever. Which is understandable. It’s even kind of cute, to be honest, if a little-”

“Does this have a point?” Jeremy asked. “Or was this whole thing just so you could embarrass me for every decision I’ve ever made to keep people safe?”

Michael knocked his legs against Jeremy’s underneath the table. “I dunno, I kinda wanted to hear where that was going.”

“We can do both,” Chloe said. “But that’s besides the point.”

She slid the silver-wrapped box in front of Michael. He looked down at it, then at Jeremy, then at Chloe.

“You aren’t like us,” Chloe said, her voice quiet but clear underneath the sounds of steaming machines and clinking dishes. “But you’re one of us now. And Jeremy wasn’t _entirely_ wrong- there definitely might come a day where none of us are around to help you, or someone might use you to get to us. Or someone might just try and kill you.”

“Um,” Michael said.

“So.” She nodded towards the box. “You’re going to need something to protect yourself with. Open it.”

And Michael did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes!
> 
> -sorry this took so long :( me and this chapter fought viciously for like, four days. i dont even know what it is anymore. just take it.  
> -this is.... All Fluff. my boys need a break :( also there's some loose ends tied up and some other stuff that is important gfjkdgh idk i really hope u like it bc im pretty sure i forgot how to read while writing this for how long i spent trying to write it  
> -idk about where y'all live, but at least in new jersey it is A Thing for jewish people to go out to the movies/order chinese on christmas. hence that.  
> -jeremy trying so hard to make sure he's Doing This Right and Talking Out Their Problems bc he doesn't want to fuck this up and michael just being like 'communication is an ongoing thing' i wanted to cry writing it i love these dumb confused good-intentioned boys :(((  
> -i really. really. almost kinda wish this had been from michael's pov bc his head during the whole bedroom/breakfast scene is literally just him screeching bc he cannot believe any of this is happening.  
> -ALSO penne pizza+buffalo chicken pizza are real things and they are SO FUCKING GOOD it's literally two meals in one but in the best way possible it's so fucking good don't knock it til u try it  
> -i love rich and jake. making a Big Fuckin Deal about adding michael to the subway soup or hero chat?? my aesthetic.  
> -what did the girls get michael?? the world may never know!! (until the next chapter)  
> -weird al DID actually play at the BergenPAC in 2011, which is when they would've been in 7th grade. #writingresearch  
> -please comment and kudos!! i check comments like 400 times a day and cry at every one :x


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long!! i was on vacation :x anyway here's Jeremy Heere's Day Off Pt. 2. as always, shoutout to debi @debusya.tumblr.com for editing!!

 

“Holy shit,” Michael said.

It was a taser. A baby pink taser, nestled in a box along with four extra cartridges.

“Holy  _shit,”_ Jeremy and Jake echoed in unison.

Jeremy watched Michael’s eyes flicker from the box to Brooke, then to Chloe, then back to meet Jeremy’s gaze. His eyes were wide. Jeremy’s heart was in his throat.

“It’s a precautionary measure,” Chloe said. Jeremy grabbed the box from Michael and slammed the lid back on, looking around to see if anybody had noticed the group of high schoolers with an illegal taser.  “We figured it was the best option. I mean, I know it’s a bit risky what with the Squip’s technokinesis and all, but it’s better than a gun.”

Jeremy’s leg jerked under the table, fear climbing his spine and freezing him in place at the thought of the Squip taking control of Michael at all, let alone while he was holding a gun. He swallowed, and tried to shove aside the images of Michael with a gun. Michael with a  _gun._ In  _New Jersey._ Michael with gunmetal pressing down his tongue against his will. Michael’s finger on the trigger. The Squip’s cold laugh and unflinching glare.

Jeremy’s stomach churned.

“Where did you guys even  _get_ this?” Michael breathed, his fingers tight around the box. “This is- this is  _awesome.”_

“My mom got it from this prop weapons designer she knows in Connecticut,” Brooke supplied happily. “Technically, they’re illegal in New Jersey, but I’d say this is an-” she over-enunciated the next line.  “ _Extenuating circumstance.”_

“Extenuating? What is this, my  _dick?”_ Rich complained, grabbing the box out of Jeremy’s lap and re-opening it. “  _I_ want a taser. Brooke, hook me up with one.”

“I don’t think ‘extenuating’ means what you think it means,” Christine tried, but Rich didn’t even acknowledge her as he picked up the baby pink weapon and examined it reverently.

Jake shoved him. “You have fire powers, broski. You don’t need a taser.”

“Dude!  _Exactly._  I have  _fire powers,_ not  _electrocution_  powers.” Rich looked up at Jake, placing the taser back into its box. “How sick would that be, though? Power of the flame  _and_ of the outlet. I’d be unstoppable. Think I’d still have to charge my phone?”

Someone’s knee nudged against Jeremy’s under the table. He looked up and found Michael staring at him, concerned, a question written in his eyes.  _Are you okay?_

Jeremy swallowed, his throat tight, but gave him a sharp nod anyway. It was only mostly a lie, but he forced in a deep breath and tried to ignore the way the clanging dishes sounded so much like gunshots with Jeremy’s heightened hearing and overactive spider sense.

“This isn’t a  _joke,_ you guys,” Chloe said firmly, yanking the box back from Rich. The banter fell quiet. If Jeremy could speak, he would have thanked her. Profusely. Instead, she just turned back to Michael and said, “Listen, I know this sucks, like, a lot. And obviously, we’re going to try and do everything we can to make sure that you don’t actually have to use it. But, you know. Just in case.”

“Jesus," Michael beamed.  “This is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me. Everyone should have superhero friends.”

Chloe smiled a little at that, carefully sliding the box back over to him. Rich leaned forward as if to grab it again, but Chloe’s death glare sent him slouching back in his seat.

“You should name it Sparky,” Jake said. “Get it? Like- sparks? Electrocution?”

“I think we get it, Jake,” Christine said, cutting him off gently. Jake shrugged, and threw his arm around Rich to comfort him, who had crossed his arms and pouted after Chloe’s glare.

“I kinda like the name,” Brooke piped up. “It’s cute. And totally unsuspecting. Like a code name.”

“Okay, thank you, first off, because this is  _rad,”_ Michael said, looking up at them. He pulled the box gently into his lap, as if it would shatter if he moved it too quickly. “But, uh. I have no clue how to use this.”

Chloe sat up a little straighter. “We thought Jeremy could show you.”

_“Me?”_ Jeremy half-shrieked, half-whispered. Christine and Brooke shushed him anyway. “How would  _I_ know how to use a- a-” he lowered his voice and hissed, “A  _taser?”_

“Sparky, _”_ Rich corrected.

_“Whatever,”_ Jeremy hissed. “I can’t even walk down the  _stairs_ without tripping, how the hell am I supposed to teach  _anyone_ anything?  _”_

“Those things are completely different, Jeremy,” Brooke informed him. “The box says it has a laser sight point and an instruction manual. We just thought you’d be able to give him some tips.”

_“Tips?_ Like what- ‘oh, remember that time the Squip hurled me through a sign’? Turns out head injuries  _really suck!_ So aim there!  _”_ He raised his eyebrows and gestured his hands, as if to get across the point that this whole idea was absurd and dumb and Jeremy would probably do more harm than good. He went on, laying it on thick.  _“How_ do you aim? Oh, well, you know, can’t really help you there, because I literally have  _no clue what I’m doing.”_  

“Your webs, Jeremy,” Chloe said, silencing him before he could devolve into a full-on panic attack. “You aim your webs every time you go out. And you never miss.”

Jeremy felt his ears heat up, and his mouth moved before his brain could process. “That’s not true, I’ve definitely missed.”  _Oh yeah, Jeremy. Make yourself seem like an_ incompetent  _superhero. That won’t freak them out four days before the conference._  “I’ve completely, one hundred percent missed things before.”  _PLEASE STOP TALKING._  “There’s no way I haven’t.”

“Oh yeah?” Rich challenged. “Name  _one_ time you’ve missed and fallen.”

“I-” Jeremy started, his mind reeling. He landed on an occasion. “The first time Christine and I went out on patrol. I fell off a building and got a black eye.”

_“That’s_ what happened?” Michael said incredulously. “What the fuck, man. You said you punched yourself in the eye while playing Wii Bowling!”

Christine interrupted.  _“_ Jeremy,  _other_ than the first twenty minutes you had superpowers, have you actually missed? Because I’m usually the one to go out with you, and I can’t remember anything.”

Jeremy opened his mouth, desperate to prove her wrong, but he couldn’t think of a single time he’d not hit something he was trying to web. That couldn’t be right. He was  _Jeremy Heere,_ he wasn’t good at anything except  _maybe_ video games and sometimes Twister, thanks to his powers.

His brain was a mess of thoughts, half of him wanting to lie and come up with something to get the group off his back, while the other half was screaming about making himself seem incompetent for no reason. Why was he even so desperate to prove them wrong? It wasn’t as if he was actually inept. His survival rate was a pretty strong  _Jeremy: 1, Death: 0_ , which he thought was pretty good, unless he counted flatlining at the hospital. But none of that explained why he was so reluctant to help Michael.

_It’s because you’re afraid of being the reason why he gets hurt,_ his mind supplied, and Jeremy wanted to slam his head against the table in front of him. Right. This wasn’t English class. This was life or death.

“I don’t think you  _have_ , Jer,” Michael said, rescuing Jeremy from his downward spiral. “I was obsessed with Spiderman for a longass time. I don’t remember reading or seeing anything about you falling or missing something.”

“Dude’s got a point,” Jake said. Jeremy couldn’t do anything but gape at him. “You’re good with the webs, my guy. Even when you’ve been hurt. Or stunned. Or holding someone.”

“Or high!” Christine added.

“Or high,” Jake repeated, nodding. Then he froze, and blinked, and said, “Wait, bro,  _for real?_ That’s awesome.” He held his hand out for a fist-bump, and Jeremy knocked his own against it, helpless and completely lost. “What was  _that_ like?”

“The  _point_ , you guys,” Chloe said, placing her hands on the table. “Is that Jeremy doesn’t miss.  Ever. He could probably teach you a thing or two about aiming that ta-  _Sparky_ , Michael.”

Brooke chimed in, “At least, that’s what we were hoping.”

Michael looked at Jeremy and leaned forward. “You don’t have to do this, Jer. I could- Google it, or something. I’m sure the instruction manual is cool. I mean, it’s not like I’m the first person to use one of these. It’ll be okay.”

“But what if it’s not?” Jeremy asked, his throat tight. All he could think about was Michael against the Squip, couldn’t get the image out of his head of the Squip flicking his wrists and breaking Michael’s-

No. He wouldn’t go there. Jeremy couldn’t let himself go there.

“There’s gotta be a Wikihow or YouTube video out there somewhere,” Michael reassured him, dragging Jeremy’s focus back to the Starbucks. “Dude, it’s fine. I’ll be okay, you don't have to do this.” He paused, then added lightly, “‘Course, I’ll mock you forever if you don’t.”  

“Can you really  _teach_ someone how to taser- shit, I mean, use Sparky- via  _spiderwebs?_ Cause if so, that’s the coolest fucking thing  _ever_.” Rich leaned back in his seat, linking his hands behind his head. “  _God,_ I love this job.  _”_

Jeremy ran his thumb over his wrists, trying to think. His finger brushed against the slightly raised ridge of skin where his webs came from, insignificant enough to be mistaken for a vein.  He looked up at Michael, who met his gaze with a small but reassuring smile. The look made something warm appear in Jeremy’s veins, a soft glow that spread through his fingertips and settled in his toes.

But then he pictured Michael in danger, or up against a villain, or against the  _Squip_ , and the gentle glow froze into ice water. His fingers pressed harder against his own skin, trying to work the blood back through his veins. God, he was so afraid. He was supposed to be dealing with SATs and avoiding getting caught breaking GDL, not wondering if he was about to be the reason Michael would get killed.

_You could also be the one who teaches him how to survive,_ a unfamiliar, quieter part of Jeremy’s brain offered.  _You could be the one who saves him._

He had no idea what he was doing. Shooting webs had become instinct he didn’t know he had until the others had pointed it out. But if it was between trying and Michael dying, well, then there was really only one way through.

“I don’t know if I can,” Jeremy said slowly, his thumb still rubbing against his wrist. “But I guess we’re gonna find out.”

 

*           *            *

 

They were standing in Jeremy’s backyard, Michael holding the pink taser in both hands, with his legs planted firmly apart on the ground. The sun was setting, lighting the sky up in a honeyed golden orange that warmed Jeremy’s skin despite the time of day.

The yard was secluded, bordered by a forest on the back and tall pine trees on either side for privacy from the neighbors. They had once seen Jeremy’s sweaty dad mowing the lawn while wearing nothing but his underwear, and the pine tree fence had gone up two weeks later. Jeremy couldn’t even blame them.

The widest of these trees was now being used as target practice, though they had yet to actually shoot anything.

“What do I click for the laser pointer?” Michael asked, hazarding a quick glance at Jeremy, as if the Taser might go off when he wasn’t looking. “Also, I  _know_ I’m holding it the right way, but I am seriously fucking terrified that I’m somehow going to accidentally shoot myself.”

“You’re not gonna accidentally shoot yourself,” Jeremy said. He lifted the instruction manual and scanned it. “It says to hold the trigger down halfway for the laser.”

Michael’s finger twitched, so slowly that Jeremy almost missed it. Then, a small blue line appeared on the tree, though it was shaky and moving unsteadily.

Jeremy looked at Michael, who was staring at the blue line and trembling, the taser quaking just a little too much to be normal. Jeremy swallowed. “Dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Groovy,” Michael affirmed, but his voice was faint. “Uh- is there a kickback on this thing? Like, it’s not gonna go full on  _Rambo_ on me, right?”

Jeremy considered. “I dunno. I’ve never used one before.” He let the manual fall to his side. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

_“Jeremy,”_ Michael said firmly. “I said I’m fine. I’m basically Matthew McConaughey, that’s how alright I am.”  

“Um. Alright then.” Jeremy lifted the manual again. “Safety’s already off. You aimed.” He looked up. “Pull the trigger, I guess.”

Michael did. The Taser let out a loud buzzing noise, and Michael let out a surprised noise somewhere between a shriek and a gasp.

He jerked the stun gun to the side, missing the tree by a good three feet. The wires fell uselessly to the grass, crackling with electricity. Michael let go of the trigger, but the wires continued jumping and sparking on the ground.

“Jesus,” Michael said, dropping the taser, his voice low. “That… didn’t go great.”

The taser twitched, pathetically jumping into the air before falling flat and finally laying still.

Jeremy couldn’t help his snort. “Sparky looks like how I feel.”

Michael just laughed, and then suddenly he was in front of him, pulling the booklet down from Jeremy’s face and smiling inches away from him. He pulled Jeremy’s free hand into his own. “Hard same, dude.”

Jeremy’s heart sank a little, and he said quietly, “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

“What? This is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me. Like, all of it. I didn’t mean-” Michael made a frustrated noise in his throat and squeezed Jeremy’s hands tighter. “Jeremy. I don’t mind being dragged. I  _like_ being dragged. And I would a  _thousand times_ rather be dragged along with you than watch you drag yourself.” He paused, considering, then admitted, “Not gonna lie though, I still can’t believe I didn’t figure it out for myself. You weren’t subtle at  _all.”_

“What?” Jeremy spluttered. “Dude! I was  _so_ subtle. I was  _king_ of subtle-”

“You have  _abs_ now  _,_ buddy,” Michael said, biting at his lip to stop his smile. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out from that alone. Could you even do a push-up before this?”

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy countered, ignoring the way his mind latched onto the fact that Michael had noticed his abs at all. “Could you even take a  _picture_ before this, Mr. ‘I took one and then made the New York Times and then retired’?”

There was a beat, and then Michael burst out laughing. “Dude, that was bad, even for you.  _You’re_ the one who hasn’t even been doing Spiderman stuff this whole time, remember?”

“Shut  _up,”_ Jeremy whined. “Chloe’s mom hasn’t fixed my suit yet.”

“That’s no excuse,” Michael chided. “A real superhero would’ve had a spare. Haven’t you seen  _movies_?”

Jeremy pouted. “What, my outfit from last night wasn’t good enough? The red t-shirt and leggings not doing it for you?”

“Oh, I am  _plenty_ fine with you in leggings, are you kidding?” Michael assured him, and Jeremy’s stomach definitely didn’t flip at  _that_. “But nobody’s gonna believe me if I send in pictures of some guy in a mask. The suit’s like, the whole shebang, dude.”

“Don’t you already have an unfair advantage?” Jeremy asked. “Like, you could probably just screenshot a Snapchat of me wearing the mask and you’d be the cover of a Buzzfeed article.”

“New York Times to Buzzfeed,” Michael noted, raising an eyebrow. “Damn. You’ve upgraded.”

Jeremy snickered, but then a gentle chill on his neck reminded him of the reality of the situation, and he said, “At least I don’t miss when  _I_ shoot.”

“Okay, well.” Michael tugged Jeremy so he was pressed against Michael’s front, his body a warm and steady force on Jeremy’s back. He picked up Jeremy’s hand and held both their arms in front of them, gently twisting Jeremy’s arm so his inner arm faced the darkening sky.

When he spoke, his breath was hot against Jeremy’s ear. “Show me how you do your webs, then. Maybe that’ll help.”

“This is so dumb,” Jeremy whispered, but he bent his fingers accordingly. Michael’s palm felt soft and dry against the back of his hand.

“Do it,” Michael breathed.

Jeremy swallowed hard, trying desperately not to think about  _other_ situations where Michael could be behind him, saying those same words. Instead, he aimed for something other than the tree, and shot a web, letting it fly free from his wrist.

It hit the taser with a gentle  _thwip_ , and Jeremy flicked his wrist sharply to bring it back, his elbow knocking against Michael’s.  He caught the taser in his hand, and Jeremy tried not to freak out at how weird it was to suddenly be using his powers so blatantly in front of the same person he’d tried so hard to keep them secret from.

Michael gripped Jeremy from behind, the fingers on his free hand tightening on Jeremy’s waist. His breath caught in his throat, half-afraid to face Michael’s reaction.

For the first time, Jeremy felt vulnerable standing in front of him. This was who he was now. And yeah, Michael knew, but he didn’t really  _know._ It was definitely weird, sending spiderwebs from his fucking  _veins._ What if he thought he was a freak? What if he was disgusted by him? What if-

But then Michael was releasing a breath he’d been holding, softly blowing Jeremy’s hair against his ear, and saying, “How do you  _do that?”_

“You just, y’know. Shoot.” Jeremy stepped away, quietly missing Michael’s body pressed against his own. Michael just looked at him, a little awestruck. “You gotta aim before you do it, though. And follow through, I guess.”

Michael grinned. “That’s  _so cool.”_

Jeremy’s stomach swooped, but he managed a choked, “Really? You don’t- think it’s weird?”

“Dude, of course it’s weird,” Michael said. He picked up Jeremy’s arm, running his fingertips lightly over the sensitive skin on his inner wrist. “But it’s  _amazing. You’re_ amazing.”

Jeremy tried not to shudder at the gentle contact, and he tightened his grip on the taser. “Oh,” he said, dumbly.

Michael used his grip on Jeremy’s arm to tug him into a kiss. Michael’s arms fell around his waist and Jeremy melted into it, bringing his free hand up to cup Michael’s face.

He imagined this was what Christine felt like whenever she flew through the air: light, airy, and free, the whole world stretched out in front of him. He never wanted to come down.

Except then Michael was pulling away, and Jeremy moved to follow on instinct before he realized what he was doing. His eyes snapped open and he jerked backward, stumbling through an apology.

Michael smiled again, maybe a little smug, and swiftly stole the taser out of Jeremy’s loosened grip.

“C’mon, let’s see if what you said actually works.” he said, still smirking, but his rough voice and reddening cheeks betrayed how much the kiss had affected him, too. Jeremy couldn’t help the the thrill that settled in his toes.  _He’d_ done that to  _him._ Michael nudged his glasses up. “I’m gonna hit that tree before dinner if it  _kills_ me.”

 

*           *            *

 

Michael hit the mark on the third cartridge.

They celebrated by ordering takeout with the money that Jeremy’s dad had left, and smoking in Jeremy’s room.

(“On a school night?” Michael had asked when Jeremy pulled out the tiny Ziplock bag. “Aren’t superheroes supposed to be upstanding members of society, or whatever?”

“Nothing about me is upstanding,” Jeremy snorted. And then, because he couldn’t help it, “Except my dick.”

Michael didn’t really argue after that, just laughed and grabbed Jeremy’s bowl from where it was hidden in his desk drawer.)

They were sitting on Jeremy’s floor playing Super Monkey Ball, his bedroom door safely locked in case his dad came home early. Jeremy had his head on Michael’s stomach, his half-eaten carton of General Tso’s abandoned next to him. Michael was still working on his fried rice between games. The room was hazy with smoke despite the open window, the smell of weed mixing with the thick scent of the sugar-cookie scented Yankee candle Jeremy had stolen from his dad.

Jeremy was pleasantly high, where the world felt a little soft around him. It felt just a half-second behind, but in a way that made Jeremy feel at peace, like he finally had enough time to process everything instead of letting it rush past him. The food tasted a little better. Michael felt a little warmer. Jeremy felt a little calmer.

Seven levels into the second set of the game, Michael paused the game abruptly, much to Jeremy’s dismay.

“What are you doing?” Jeremy complained, grumpily sitting up and rubbing his eyes to get rid of the film that had developed from staring at the screen for so long. “I was winning. And comfy.”

“Dude,” Michael said, his voice breathy. He reached for Jeremy’s bowl and carefully repacked it, his hands moving easily through the movement. “I have the best idea. The  _best.”_

Jeremy made a questioning noise, but Michael just shushed him and reached over Jeremy for the lighter. He fumbled with the sparkwheel for a second, then tilted the lighter into the bowl and looked up at Jeremy. His eyes were glazed and a little red, and he licked his lips. Jeremy stared, suddenly wishing he’d worn literally anything but skinny jeans. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, shifting closer to him. “What are you-?”

Michael lit the bowl and wrapped his lips around the stem, inhaling deeply. He didn’t cough. Jeremy wondered how he managed that. Even  _with_ super powers, he’d never managed to take a hit without coughing like a baby. Or someone with pneumonia.

He blinked, only to realize Michael hadn’t exhaled, and was still holding the smoke in his mouth. Jeremy wrinkled his eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

Michael just motioned for Jeremy to come closer, so he did. Michael leaned in once Jeremy got close enough, a question written in his half-lidded eyes.

_He wants to kiss me,_ he realized, and Jeremy’s cotton-candy brain finally caught up with what was happening. Shotgunning. Shotgunning was happening. Michael wanted to shotgun. With him. With  _Jeremy._

His eyes widened. Yeah. Yeah, he could get behind that.

He met Michael halfway and dissolved into the pleasant spark that tickled itself up his spine. Michael’s lips parted against his own and gently exhaled the smoke into Jeremy’s mouth, sliding his tongue against Jeremy’s lips afterwards, letting him know he was done.

Jeremy breathed in sharply, shutting his mouth and letting the smoke sink into his lungs while Michael’s lips worked gently against his own. He could not for the life of him figure out why they hadn’t done this earlier. Or why they weren’t already doing it again.

But then the familiar urge to cough sent Jeremy begrudgingly pulling away, and he turned to hack the smoke into his arm. Wrinkling his nose, he unscrewed the cap of his water and took a long sip, soothing the burn in his throat.

When he looked up again, Michael was still staring at him. His lips were parted slightly and his pupils were blown wide.

Jeremy’s heart skipped. “What?”

Michael licked his lips, blinking slowly. “That was-” he swallowed, and Jeremy’s eyes traced his throat, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. “That was. Wow.”

_“Yeah.”_ Jeremy crawled over to him again, pushing aside Michael’s fried rice so he could sit on his lap, his knees on either side of Michael’s outstretched legs. “Let’s do that again. Please. A lot more of that. I won’t cough this time.”

“You always cough, loser.” Michael said fondly. His hands settled on Jeremy’s hips, his thumbs ghosting against his skin underneath his t-shirt. Jeremy reveled in the shudder that traced his spine.

He kissed him again, slow and lazy, and Jeremy wrapped his arms around Michael’s neck. God, he was so lucky he was allowed to do this. He could do this  _whenever_ now. Rich had been ahead of the game with their backpacks all those months ago, they were  _boyfriends._ He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the word, but he liked the way it floated through his brain anyway, a fluttery fact that turned his insides to smoke.

Absently, Michael moved down to mouth against Jeremy’s throat, who groaned and let his head fall back. His brain short-circuited as Michael sucked a mark onto his neck.

Then, what Michael had just said hit him, and Jeremy pulled back, blinking. Michael’s hands moved to drag down Jeremy’s thighs which, okay, wow, he would come back to that later. “Whoa, wait, hold up. I’m not a loser. I’m Spiderman.”

“You can be both,” Michael told him, leaning to press another lazy kiss to the curve of Jeremy’s collarbone. “You  _are_ both.”

Jeremy shoved him away gently. “If anything,  _you’re_ the loser.”

Michael frowned, considering. “I’m more of a dork. You’re definitely the loser, though.”

“I’m not a loser,” Jeremy insisted. He scrambled off of Michael’s lap, who made a disappointed noise at the loss of contact. Jeremy ignored it, and jumped onto his bed. He bounced on the mattress a few times before turning to look at Michael, who was still laying on the ground, leaning back on his elbows to stare at him. “Would a loser do  _this?”_

He pressed his hands to the ceiling and lifted himself up, curving his back until his socked feet touched the drywall. He hung there for a moment as the world caught up with him, his brain still a heartbeat behind the rest of him. When it did, he let his head fall behind him, his hair hanging off his forehead, the world upside-down around him.

Michael was still leaning on his elbows underneath him. “You’re so high.”

“I’m  _so_ high,” Jeremy agreed cheerily. He shot a short web, connecting it to the ceiling, and lowered himself down a few feet while he feet stayed planted on the ceiling. Michael slowly stood up, standing so he was at eye-level with Jeremy. His eyes were red and his neck was flushed. “Who’s the loser  _now?”_

“Still you,” Michael said, bringing his hands up to cup either side of Jeremy’s head. “But you’re  _my_ loser.”

“That’s the most loser thing I’ve ever  _heard,”_ Jeremy whined, but Michael shut up him with a kiss.

It was a little weird, mostly because Jeremy had never kissed anybody while upside down before, but he wasn’t complaining. It was different, kissing Michael while high. A good different. It felt slower, but not for lack of movement. The ghost of sensation stayed on his mouth with every press of Michael’s lips, even after he’d moved. His brain hummed, hyperfocused on everything he could  feel while everything he  _couldn’t_ drained away around him. Michael’s nose was pressing against his chin, and Jeremy lifted one hand off his web to card his fingers through Michael’s hair.

And then, distantly, Jeremy registered the sound of the front door opening. The jingle of keys in a glass bowl. Footsteps.

“I’m home, Private!” Jeremy’s dad called out from the bottom of the stairs.

Jeremy jerked away from Michael and practically fell off the ceiling in his haste to get down, landing on the ground with a loud thump. He heard his dad stop moving around in the mudroom. “Jeremy? What was that? Everything okay up there?”

“Fine, Dad!” Jeremy yelled. “Just- dropped a controller! Everything’s fine!”

“You sure?” Jeremy heard his dad start climbing the stairs. “I’m coming up! I’ve been meaning to talk to you, actually-”

_Shit, shit, shit._ He turned to Michael, knees bent and eyes wide, and hissed, “Hide everything!”

They scrambled to get rid the evidence of the weed on his floor. Jeremy emptied the remains of bowl into the trash can underneath his desk, while Michael sealed the Ziplock bag and stuffed it back into his drawer, then held it open for Jeremy to hide the bowl.

They slid it shut and then dove for the controllers, clicking resume on Super Monkey Ball just as Jeremy’s dad walked into the room.

Or at least, he tried to. The door was locked. Jeremy cursed under his breath and jumped up to open it.

“Jeremy! Who else is in there with you?” His dad stood in front of him, wearing a rumpled and stained suit. He peered around the door. “Oh. Hi, Michael.”

“Hey, Mr. Heere,” Michael greeted, his voice unnaturally flat. He nodded in their general direction, but kept his gaze fixed on the screen, where he was playing the game. Probably for the best, Michael always looked as high as he was.

Jeremy swallowed, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, hoping his own eyes weren’t as red as Michael’s. He spoke, aiming for _completely sober and definitely not just making out with my best friend on the ceiling._ This was really not how Jeremy had imagined the way their first real conversation after the hospital as going. “Hey, Dad! How was work?”

“Good.” Jeremy’s dad said, then snuffed. “Are you burning incense?”

Jeremy tried not to let his panic show on his face. “Um. Yes?”

“The smell reminds me of college,” Jeremy’s dad said, frowning a little bit. “I wanted to talk to you, actually, but uh. It can wait til after Michael goes home.”

His dad turned to go and Jeremy slouched in relief, moving to shut the door again.

“Wait, son-” And then his dad was turning around, a question in his brow. He put his foot back in the doorframe before Jeremy could shut it again, and Jeremy was tempted to use his strength and shut the door anyway. “Why was the door locked?”

“Uh-”

His eyes flickered to Jeremy’s neck. “Is that a- oh.  _Oh_. I see. When did you two-? Get together?”  

“What? We’re not-” Jeremy asked, his hand reaching up to press where his dad was staring. The skin was soft and tender. A bruise, right where Michael had kissed him. Oh,  _God-_ “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Jeremy’s dad said, and Jeremy’s stupidly still not-sober mind flashed to Michael’s Matthew McConaughey for a second before he could stop it. Jeremy shook his head, and his dad let go of the doorknob and raised his hands in surrender. “I believe you. Just- make sure you use protection.”

“Oh,  _gross-_ Dad! It’s not!” Jeremy shrieked. “It’s  _not-_ we were just, doing  _homework-_ ”

“I’m not asking questions!” Jeremy dad raised his arms in surrender. “Just remember, it’s getting late and it’s a school night. No sleepovers.” He looked over Jeremy’s shoulder and spoke to Michael. “I can drive you home, Michael.”  

Jeremy wondered what his dad would do if he knew about all the times he’d sneaked out on a weekday.  All the times he’d come back bruised and battered and had to hobble to the kitchen for an ice pack. Or even last night, when he’d spent the night at Michael’s, and his dad hadn’t known.

Michael said weakly from behind him, “Thanks, Mr. Heere.”

“I’ll be waiting in the car when you’re ready.” His dad turned back to Jeremy. “I’ll give you two a few minutes.”

And then he disappeared back down the stairs, leaving Jeremy waiting for the world to swallow him. Invisibility would’ve been nice, he wished again mournfully as he shut the door and turned to face Michael.

“What the fuck,” Jeremy whisper-shrieked.

“I don’t know,” Michael said, blinking at him and looking just as lost as Jeremy felt.

Then, the two of them burst into disbelieving laughter. Jeremy threw himself on his bed, burying his face into the pillow, groaning in between hiccuping snickers.

“At least he didn’t know we were high?” Michael offered, once they’d managed to calm down. “Like. At  _least.”_

Jeremy sat up. “I’d kinda prefer that instead of  _this.”_ He threw a pillow at Michael, who just barely managed to lift his hands in time to stop it. “It’s your fault. You left a  _hickey._ Who  _does_ that?”

“It was the weed,” Michael said mournfully. Jeremy snorted and looked between his blinds to the street, where his dad was waiting in the Prius. “Can’t believe we locked the door and  _still_ got caught. What’s the point of Spidey senses if you can’t make out with your boyfriend and not get caught?”

Jeremy let his hand drop from the blinds. He could probably listen to Michael call him his boyfriend forever, but that probably wasn’t a reasonable solution to stopping the Squip. Or passing chemistry. Or anything else Jeremy needed to figure out before the world ended. Instead, he pushed those thoughts aside and asked,“Hey, Michael?”

“Yeah?”

He looked at him, and tried not to laugh. “Do you think my dad will notice that your car’s still here before or after he drives you home?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so!  
> -literally only one person guessed it was a taser lmao shoutout to u  
> -tasers are actually illegal in nj. even if they weren't, they're still definitely illegal for everyone here, because they're not 18.  
> -speaking of tasers, i have very little idea how they work?? so this chapter should basically be called "fakin it til i make it starring 'google search: taser diagram'."  
> -ngl, i've wanted the shotgunning/spiderman kiss scene in there from literally chapter 1. you know that text post that's like "fic author: *deletes self-indulgent scene* fic author, two seconds later: *puts back in the self-indulgent scene bc fic is 1000% self indulgent*'? that's me.  
> -ALSO! i've said this before, but don't do drugs kids!!  
> -i updated the tags on this fic!! pretty sure i got everything, but i'll be going through again and making sure that i did.  
> -im also gonna be going through this fic and editing it a tiny bit!! just to make it flow a little better, add some more pining, etc. lmao ik that feels like cheating but i promise it's nothing major, it's just to make myself happier with this monstrosity of a fic. though in the next few days/weeks feel free to reread for a Better Experience.   
> -i promise the action is gonna come back. we just gotta get through all these feelings and things first lol.  
> -comments and kudos are the bomb digs!! ily all sm!!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i warned y'all from DAY ONE that i suck at updating. so nobody's allowed to get mad.
> 
> (really though, i'm sorry for disappearing for a month. i went back to school and my life literally exploded. this fic will be finished though if it KILLS ME!!! updates just might have to take a lil longer than every other week lol, but we're in the home stretch anyway<333)

The first twenty minutes of Jeremy’s first day back at school were completely uneventful.

He walked into school and let the easy thrum of routine wash over him: the people buying breakfast, calling out names, cramming for tests. It was almost comforting, seeing how literally nothing had changed in the week he’d been gone. While Jeremy had been unconscious in the ICU last Monday, Middleborough High had trudged on, exactly like it had done before him, and exactly like it would continue to do long after he was gone.

His morning had been a series of carefully executed steps towards Operation Avoid Dad at All Costs. The plan consisted of pretending to be asleep after his dad came back from dropping Michael off at home. The next morning, he’d woken up at an ungodly hour in order to be safely at school by the time his dad came downstairs. And yeah, it might have been immature and maybe a little excessive, but it had worked. The sex talk was safely avoided, at least for now.

He wrapped the sleeves of his cardigan around his knuckles and fell into the familiar game of ducking past the athletes coming back from morning practice, skittering around the marching band, and stepping over the stretched-out legs of people sitting against the lockers. Nobody gave him a second glance.

He didn’t realize he’d been nervously holding his breath until he made it to his locker unharmed, where he spun in his combination and let out a long breath of relief as he gathered his books. Nobody had confronted him about being absent, or the Port Authority videos, or anything. His secret was safe. Spiderman was safe. His friends were safe. _Michael_ was safe.

“Jeremy!”

Jeremy squeaked in surprise and slammed the locker shut, only to see Brooke standing behind the metal door.  

 _“Jesus,_ ” he said, shoving his textbooks into his bag. “You scared me.”

“Scared you?” Brooke blinked. “Jeremy, you have _spidey-senses.”_

“Spiders get scared too,” Jeremy mumbled, hoisting the bag over his shoulder and moving to walk down the hall. Brooke fell into step beside him, her thumbs wrapped around the straps of her backpack. “But whatever, I guess. What’s up?”

“Chemistry,” Brooke said.

Jeremy stopped in his tracks, ice washing through him.

 _“Chemistry,”_ he repeated, eyes wide. “Shit.”

Brooke raised her eyebrows, concerned, then glanced over his shoulder and quickly pulled him to the side of the hallway before a freshman with a tuba ran him over. “Did you study at all yesterday?”

 _“No,”_ Jeremy breathed, slowly starting to walk again. “It’s _tomorrow_ . I- _fuck._ I haven’t- Jesus. I completely forgot. _How did I completely forget.”_

“Don’t worry!” Brooke reassured him, while Jeremy tried to remember how to breathe. “I have a plan. I kinda figured you would be too busy with your new, uh, _toy_ to remember school stuff anyway.”

 _“What.”_ Jeremy blanched, feeling a familiar heat climb his neck. “Michael isn’t- he’s not- he’s not my _toy-!”_

Brooke stared at him for a long moment, her eyebrows creeping up her forehead. Then her lips curled up, and she had to bite her lip to hide her smile.

“I was actually talking about Sparky,” she said, laughter gracing her tone, and Jeremy’s eyes widened in horror. “But it’s _super_ fun to know that you thought I was calling your boy a _toy._ Talk about _chemistry-_ ”

 _“Shut up,”_ he tried, but it was too late. Brooke had already dissolved into giggles. “C’mon- hey, _Brooke-”_

“Rich should’ve written _that_ on your backpack instead,” Brooke cackled, using her foot to nudge the fading _Boyf_ that had been written on the fabric. “Boy and toy. _That_ would’ve been hysterical. _”_

They arrived at Jeremy’s English classroom, which was still locked. Jeremy dropped his backpack to the ground and leaned against the wall. Brooke hitched her bag on her shoulders, still laughing, while Jeremy tried to get her to stop.

“Didn’t you say you had a plan, or something?” Jeremy muttered. “Or was it just to make fun of me until the end of time?”

“I can do both,” Brooke said. “But yeah. Chem. We’re gonna go to your house after school, and I’m gonna teach you everything you need to know. I studied a lot while you were- um- out sick. I made a study guide. It’s eighteen pages, which we can _totally_ do in one night, as long as we don’t screw around after school.”

Jeremy frowned. “Eighteen pages. In one night.”

“Remember, you don’t need to do _well,_ you just need to _pass,_ ” Brooke said brightly. “It’s doable, I promise. How do you think Chloe learned how to recite every U.S. President and their major policies in chronological order in under three minutes?” She exaggerated flipping her hair over her shoulder and added, “Domestic _and_ foreign policies, by the way. Just for the record.”

“That’s weirdly specific?” Jeremy said faintly.

“So is chemistry,” Brooke affirmed. She pulled out a green folder, and then two thick stapled packets, one of which she handed to Jeremy. “No fucking around, okay? Zero distractions.”

“Uh, okay,” Jeremy agreed slowly, still feeling a little too close to throwing up. “Zero distractions. Right. Not as if we’re t-minus two days from mutually assured destruction or anything.”

“Mutually assured destruction is history,” Brooke said, shoving her folder back into her bag. “Which repeats itself. And if you’ll _remember,_ the world didn’t end in complete catastrophe back _then,_ either.” She adjusted the backpack on her shoulders and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her eyes softening. “We’re gonna be fine, Jeremy. I promise.”

Jeremy gave her an unenthusiastic smile. “You don’t happen to have a plan for dealing with our specific assured destruction, do you?”

Brooke dropped her hand and steeled her expression. “I’m working on it.” Her eyes flickered over Jeremy’s shoulder and she raised an eyebrow, nodding towards something behind him. “Though, speaking of distractions. Look who’s back.”

Jeremy turned just in time to see Jenna Rolan slam her locker and stalk over to them. As she approached, he wondered nervously if Jenna would recognize him and Brooke from the battle, if she’d put the pieces together and tell the Squip and go and destroy _literally_ the only fighting chance they had. Wondered if she hated them for being the same people the Squip had conditioned her to hate, wondered if she would feel the same if she knew the truth about who they were.

But Jenna didn’t look angry, Jeremy realized with a start. If anything, she looked _exhausted._ As she got closer, Jeremy saw deep bags smudging the skin under her eyes, a heaviness to her step that he never really remember seeing before.

“Hey, Brooke,” Jenna greeted coolly, slowing to stand in front of her. She didn’t acknowledge Jeremy at all, but that didn’t stop his mouth from going dry from fear. She could kill him if she suspected the slightest connection. She could ruin everything before it even started.

“Jenna!” Brooke grinned, pulling her into a brief hug. “Oh my _God,_ where have you been? We missed you! You’ve been gone for ages, how _are_ you?”

Jeremy noticed that Brooke didn’t mention the mono rumor. He figured that was probably for the best, considering how Jenna had reacted to it last time.  

Jenna smiled, slow and snake-like. “I had an internship, actually. With Unit Intel Processing.”

Jeremy tried really hard to keep his expression flat while his heartbeat tripled in speed. Brooke, somehow, didn’t even bat an eye.

“That’s _amazing!”_ she gushed. “Did you get to meet anyone really cool?” She leaned a little closer towards Jenna, half-whispering, “Don’t tell anyone, but I think the CEO is really cute.”

“Ew, really?” Jenna answered. Brooke nodded, a half-smile on her face, seemingly oblivious.  

“I’m really digging the whole ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ thing he’s got going on.” Brooke sighed lightly. “Wouldn’t it be awesome to like, really know him? Get inside his brain? Like, he’s a _genius._ Mount Dew is gonna change the world. It’d be _amazing_ to talk to him about it, y’know? That internship must have been _incredible._ ” She paused for a second, then deflated. “But I guess you probably just ran errands and stuff.”

Jeremy suddenly understood exactly why Brooke was one of the most popular girls in school: she might play dumb and innocent, but she knew exactly what she was doing. Her bubbly façade  reminded him of a documentary he and Michael had onced watched. It was about jumping spiders that faked being trapped in a web in order to lure another spider into thinking it was in control, only to attack and kill the duped spider at the last second.

He remembered the way the jumping spider mimicked panicked movements, the way it tricked the other spider into a false sense of security before going in for the kill. Brooke, Jeremy slowly realized, was doing the exact same thing. Everyone knew Jenna loved to know what other people didn’t. Brooke was capitalizing on that in the quietest way possible.

“Actually,” Jenna said, her voice smooth. “I worked pretty closely with him. Y’know, it was a pretty _unique_ hiring process. Based on _special_ abilities. I’d tell you what that means, but I signed an NDA.” She paused, enjoying Brooke’s expectant and faux-confused look for a long moment before explaining, “A nondisclosure agreement.”

“Aw, come on,” Brooke pouted. “Can’t you tell us just a _little_ bit about him?”

“Nope,” Jenna said, popping the ‘p’. “Sorry. Strictly confidential. I probably shouldn’t even be telling you that I worked for him at all. I’m gonna be at the UN conference though. I have a press pass and everything.”

“A _press pass?”_ Brooke repeated, her eyes pointedly flickering to Jeremy before snapping back to Jenna.

Jenna nodded. “I’m getting college credit for it, but I can’t say anything more. We did get a picture together, though. Wanna see that?”

Brooke nodded eagerly, and Jenna pulled out her phone and purposefully moved in front of Jeremy. Jeremy didn’t even need to pretend to look uncomfortable as he awkwardly stepped backwards to avoid getting stepped on.

“Ohmigod _wait!”_ Brooke half-shrieked, causing several other students to glare at her. Jeremy couldn’t blame them. It was too early to be screaming, even if it was about the Squip. “Do you have his phone number? Oh my god, Jenna, you _have_ to tell me-”

“Actually, he didn’t allow phones in the building,” Jenna said off-handedly, looking back down to scroll through her pictures. “The computers were really old too. Everything was done on like, Internet Explorer and Netscape Navigator. Not exactly my areas of expertise but, y’know. A girl’s gotta be versatile.” She smiled, her eyes glinting in the fluorescents. “I mean, everything was pretty old, except for the science equipment. He told us something about it being a security issue, uh- _aha!_ ” She looked up and showed her phone screen to Brooke, out of Jeremy’s sight. “Here’s the pic.”

Brooke glanced at Jeremy, her eyes wide and insistent, before looking down at the screen. She slipped back into character, grabbing at Jenna’s arm and gasping excitedly. “He’s _totally_ hot, don’t you think?”

The first bell rang, a shrill and sudden sound that made Jeremy flinch as if he’d been shocked. Jenna looked at him as if she just noticed him, sneering as if he’d grown three heads. Jeremy blushed and ducked his head, trying to look pretty much anywhere else. People had filled the hallway, and most of his class was now waiting outside the classroom door.

“I guess,” Jenna said, sliding her phone back into her pocket. “Anyway. I’ve got to get to class. Later, Brooke.” She spared half a glance at Jeremy and gave him a tight nod, then disappeared into the masses of people.

“Ugh.” Brooke deflated, turning back to face Jeremy. “I was hoping she’d like, tell us the Squip’s kryptonite or something.”

“Um, just for the record, you don’t _actually_ think the Squip is good-looking, right?,” Jeremy asked, then blinked as he processed what Brooke just said. “‘Cause, uh. That’s really gross. He tried to kill us. Several times.”

“Ew, no, of course I don’t.” Brooke wrinkled her nose. “Listen, I gotta get to math. But meet me in the senior parking lot after school, ‘kay?” She was walking backwards now, pointing two fingers between her eyes and Jeremy’s. “No distractions! Only chemistry!” She turned, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t be late!”

Jeremy watched her leave, then walked into his English class and took his seat in the second to last row. He pulled out his copy of _Julius Caesar_ and tried to think through Brooke’s conversation with Jenna.

If Jeremy knew _anything_ about high school, it was that Jenna Rolan loved to share things that people would’ve preferred to keep quiet. She’d been pretty instrumental in starting the rumors about Jeremy and Michael. And she didn’t sound like she was trying to keep the internship itself a secret, so she must have spilled _something._

The sound of the late bell’s shriek jolted him back to the present, and he tried to focus as his English teacher told them to turn to a scene in Act 4. Jeremy frowned as he flipped through the pages, thinking back to Port Authority, when he’d flickered all the lights and sent the electronic time boards blinking in and out. None of the Squip’s decisions made any _sense._ None of _that_ part of the night had done anything to hurt him, or even intimidate him, really.

The whole ancient computers thing sounded pretty weird, too. Why would the Squip voluntarily use Internet Explorer? Or even more confusing- _Netscape Navigator?_ As far as Jeremy could remember, nobody had used Navigator since, like, 1994. The only reason Jeremy knew it existed was because Michael had it on a computer he inherited from some great-aunt, and they spent a solid few hours dicking around on it before they got bored with how little it could do. Why had the Squip chosen to use _that_ as the web browser of his _multi-billion dollar company?_

He sat back in his chair, resigned. If he couldn’t figure it out, then he’d have to ask someone who could.

Carefully, so his teacher wouldn’t see, Jeremy slid his phone into his lap. He pulled up Michael’s number and texted: **hey, so i think your weird 90s obsession is maybe gonna save the day**

 

 *****   ***** *****

 

He explained what had happened in gym class, to varying reactions.  

“So you’re telling me,” Michael began, a slow grin spreading across his face. “That I _finally_ get to be the hero? This is my guy in the chair moment? Hell _yes._ ”

“Your _what_ moment _?”_ Chloe asked, eyebrows furrowed as she looked between them.

“I’ll explain later,” Michael told her, gently patting her arm while Jeremy bit back a laugh.

Chloe stretched to grab her toe. “I can’t believe Jenna came _back_ here _._ We have like, two weeks of classes left. Couldn’t she have just dropped out altogether?”

“The Squip probs sent her as a spy,” Rich shrugged. “Reyes taught here while he worked for him, remember? Like, he’s gotta know Spiderman goes to Middleborough.”

“They don’t know anything more than that, though. Could be anyone.” Jake rolled his neck. “Heere, hold my feet. I gotta warm up with some sit-ups.”

“Why are you doing this,” Jeremy asked disdainfully. “It’s a dance unit.”

“Exactly, dude! I agreed to do this instead of the weight room to _plan_ with you guys. But I still gotta train. No pain, no gains, baby. We can’t all lift thirty thousand pounds without workin’ out every day.” He nodded towards his feet. “Get to it, broski.”

Jeremy frowned, but held down Jake’s sneakers anyway. He counted fifteen crunches before Christine’s voice forced him back into the conversation.

“But you’re right, Jeremy,” Christine chimed in. “The whole ancient computer thing _does_ sound really weird.”

“You guys,” Michael said, his voice tinged with glee. “I’m gonna _blow your freakin’ minds._ Jer, you said his old-ass computers were using Navigator, right?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you remember that time we tried it out on my great-aunt’s computer?” Michael asked. “Like, you couldn’t _do_ anything with it. It was _stupidly_ simple _._ Impossible to fuck up. _”_

“Yeah, I was thinking about that,” Jeremy said. “But that doesn’t explain why he uses it. Unless he’s secretly fucking awful with technology. Maybe Jenna was telling the truth. Maybe it’s just a cheap way of guarding against hackers, or whatever.”

“Jeremy, that’s the _opposite_ of effective,” Michael nudged him, his eyes bright and intense as he tried to get the group to understand. “Those things are bricks. All you need is like, one hard hammer and you’re in. Why would need every computer to be ancient?”

“Because he’s got a thing for 90s tech?” Jeremy offered, still mostly lost.

“Texting drives him crazy!” Christine suggested.

“He’s got a grudge against Candy Crush,” Rich supplied. “Can’t blame him.”

Michael shook his head. He almost seemed to be _enjoying this._ “The whole point is that it’s _simple._ He needs it to be. Maybe this is a little out there, but maybe he just. Can’t control his own powers. _”_

“Excuse me?” Chloe asked flatly, suddenly freezing in her butterfly stretch position. “You’re saying the guy that’s about to mind control the entire world is just- going through the superpower equivalent of learning how to ride a bike?”

“Hear me out!” Michael scrambled. “All he did at Port Authority was flicker the lights, right? He didn’t actually _do_ anything, except kind of speak through my headphones? But that easily could have been his telekinesis. Maybe it’s some bit of his freaky mind powers that Jeremy isn’t immune to, or something.”

“That- that doesn’t make any sense though. We can all control _our_ powers, I think he’d be able to figure his own out,” Christine said. Michael took a sip from his water bottle and raised his eyebrows, but she continued. “What if it’s not that he doesn’t know how to use them. What if they’re a _side effect_? And not really a power at all?”

“A side effect of _what?_ ” Michael asked, popping off the bottle and licking his lips. Jeremy couldn’t help but stare at his mouth, which was now stained dark and slick with spit and looking like he’d just popped off something else _entirely_.

Rich shoved him hard with a snicker, and Jeremy blinked back to reality, feeling his cheeks burn. Michael just grinned at him as if he knew exactly what Jeremy had been thinking, and grabbed his hand, linking their fingers together.

“I don’t know,” Christine said, frowning. “His other powers, probably? I’m not exactly sure how brains work, but I feel like technokinesis as a side effect of _mind control_ isn’t the furthest thing from making sense. There’s electricity in the brain, right? That kind of makes sense, I think?”

“ _Nothing_ makes sense anymore,” Rich groaned, flopping onto Jake, who continued doing sit-ups as if nothing had changed.

“So,” Jeremy began, his face still warm from when Rich had shoved him. “Even if it is just a side effect, then what do we do to stop him?”

Rich sat up and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “What if we just dunk him in water and see what happens? À la Wicked Witch of the West. Seems to have a pretty good track record with colorfully tinted assholes.”

“Pretty sure that’s how we defeat _you,”_ Chloe told him. “But duly noted, nonetheless.”

“Come on,” Rich argued. “I’m getting better. Let me give him a piece of my mind. Let’s give the dickbag a taste of his own medicine.”

“We’re not gonna fight fire with fire,” Chloe said flatly. “But we need to figure out a plan for the conference like, _now._ So he’s fucking with body electricity. So what? How are we gonna get Jeremy into the conference, first of all- and secondly, how the hell are we gonna take on the Squip?”

“Fighting fire with fire?” Brooke asked, appearing from the direction of the locker rooms. She took a seat next to Chloe and lifted her knee to tie her shoe. “Are you guys talking about the UN thing? ‘Cause if so, I have an idea on how to get Jeremy in the building. It’s pretty risky, but I think it could work.”

“Should I be worried?” Jeremy asked her. “No offense, but your last plan _literally_ almost got me killed.”

“Hey,” Chloe warned, her eyes sharp. “We all agreed on that _together.”_

“Not all of us,” Michael reminded them under his breath, and Chloe’s lips thinned. Jeremy squeezed his hand, hoping it was at least a little bit reassuring.

“You _guys,_ ” Brooke said, cutting off the building argument before it could begin. “Do you wanna hear the plan? Or are we just gonna cut it off before you even hear what I have to say?”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. Chloe smiled fondly at Brooke, who didn’t acknowledge her in favor of staring each of them down. Nobody spoke.

Brooke looked at them expectantly. “Well?”

“Go for it,” Jake said, only slightly out of breath as he finally sat up for good. He swept his arms in front of him. “Let’s hear it. We’ve got five more minutes before they take attendance, anyway.”

“Great!” Brooke smiled brightly at him, then dove right in.

She walked through exactly what Jeremy was going to have to do. She explained everybody’s individual role and what to do in any emergency scenarios. She brought up alternative plans and other options. She went over escape routes and the commute and the time line. There wasn’t much time to train or practice for it, she explained, but they had all pretty much done each individual part of the plan separately. It was the safest, quickest, most effective option.

When she was done, the group was silent. For a plan she hadn’t even _mentioned_ before, it was pretty solid. Jeremy wondered how long she’d been thinking on it, how much time she’d spent thinking through every possible way he could die, and then working out a way to prevent it.

He felt nerves pile in his stomach at the thought. _Working through every possible way he could die._ This wasn’t a game anymore. Not that it had been before, but listening to Brooke walk through the logistics of a plan made everything seem way too real.

“So?” she said after a long moment of nothing. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Jeremy replied. “Like, it’s a good plan. But I still think I’m gonna puke.”

“Yup,” Christine agreed, letting out a short laugh. “Throwing up seems like a pretty reasonable reaction.”

Jeremy gave her a thankless grimace-smile, and she returned it with a apologetic smile of her own.

“It sounds risky?” Michael said, his voice pitched a little higher than normal, sounding the complete opposite of his guy-in-the-chair moment. Jeremy hadn’t noticed his grip had tightened on his hand until Michael suddenly squeezed even harder, and didn’t let go.

He realized with a start that Michael had never really been involved with their haphazard superhero process, or whatever this jury was. He watched Michael’s jaw clench as he tried to figure out what to say, finally going on with, “Like. Super risky? Not to be cheesy or anything, but, uh. I’d really rather have you alive than dead?”

“Everything we’ve ever fuckin’ _done_ was a risk,” Rich reminded him lightly. “But we still did it.”

“Cool. Feeling much better now,” Michael said, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Thanks a lot, my dude.”

“We can’t do _nothing,”_ Christine told Michael quietly. “And this is the only plan we have.”

Michael deflated. Jeremy leaned into him, hoping it wasn’t one of the last times he’d be able to. Hoping they’d all be enough when the time came. Hoping _he’d_ be enough.

“So it’s what we’re going with?” Jake asked. The group had gone quiet underneath the sounds of their gym class warming up, as everyone realized exactly what they were about to agree to. This could be their last few days alive, or it could be the most important thing they’ve ever done. And while neither choice was extremely appealing, Jeremy knew how bad things would be if they did nothing _._ Which only left one option.

Jake slid his downturned palm to the center of their small circle. “All in favor?”

There was a pause, and for a heartbeat Jeremy wondered if they’d say no, that it was too risky, that there was no possible way it could work, that they’d just pack up and admit defeat.  Jeremy half-wished they could, half-wished he could go back to patrolling the streets for petty crime instead of dealing with fucking _world domination._

But then Brooke slid her hand to rest on top of Jake’s. Then Rich, followed by Chloe, followed by Brooke. Christine chewed on her lip and looked up at Jeremy, then moved her hand to join the pile.

Jeremy felt his heart jump to his throat and he inhaled, trying to let the warm early June air soothe his unease.

He looked up at them, the terrified part mind yelling at him to shut the whole thing down. But then he saw Brooke’s pleading gaze, Christine’s hopeful eyes, Rich’s determined frown, and he realized they wouldn’t _be_ here if they were the type to just call it quits. These were the people he’d risked his life for, the people who risked his life for _him._

If they were the giving-up types, Jeremy would’ve been dead _ages_ ago. Nothing was keeping them here except for the fact that they actually cared about each other. Cared about _Jeremy._

He looked around and let the truth of it all settle in his chest. He’d always just kind of assumed they were here because they had to be, because they were the only other people in the world who knew what it was like to have superpowers.

But they weren’t. They were his _friends._

He took another breath, then slowly added his hand to join everybody else’s.

That left Michael. Jeremy turned, only to see him already staring right back, uncertainty scrawled across his face.

“I’m not part of this,” he tried. “I’m not the one actually going out and fighting. You’re all already in. You don’t need me.”

“We need you in on this, too.” Jeremy said. Then he added, his voice hardly more than a whisper, “ _I_ need you in on this. You’re just as important to this as any of us. And I’m not doing it unless you’re on board too. One hundred percent.”

Jeremy saw something settle in Michael’s eyes at his words, soft but unyielding. He nodded, and something in Jeremy’s chest cracked open, leaving him warm and light. A rush of affection washed over him, and he felt far too open under Michael’s gaze.

When Michael finally added his hand, he felt like twelve years of _MichaelandJeremy_ was being pulled away from him, leaving only something raw and vulnerable that ached if he examined it too closely. He remembered weeks ago, when Michael liking him back didn’t even seem like a _possibility_ , remembered realizing that he’d move cities for him, if he ever asked.

That hadn’t changed, Jeremy knew. But now he understood that Michael would do the same for him.

“All in favor,” Jeremy affirmed quietly, tearing his gaze away from Michael to stare at their hands linked on the gym floor, and that was that.

 

 *****   ***** *****

 

School ended far too quickly for Jeremy’s liking, now that he knew what was coming next.

He had tried to find Michael after his last class, only to find Brooke and Chloe already talking to him in front of his locker. Chloe was speaking very quickly, her hands moving so fast they seemed blurry in front of her. Michael looked a little gray, but his jaw was steeled. Jeremy furrowed his eyebrows, confused. What was Brooke saying that was so concerning?

Just then, Michael caught his eye, and his face splintered into a grin as he waved. Brooke and Chloe turned to see who it was. Their intent expressions disappeared in creepy unison, replaced by easy smiles and calm words of greeting.

“What’re you guys talking about?” Jeremy asked when he got close enough, looking apprehensively between them. Michael didn’t answer his question, and if Jeremy didn’t know any better he would’ve thought Michael looked… _guilty_?

Jeremy frowned, but Brooke started speaking before he could say anything.

“There you are!” she grinned, looping her arm around his and yanking him tightly against her.

He made a noise of protest, but she was already pulling him away. “We’re going to study for chemistry. Bye, you guys! See you tomorrow!”

Chloe gave a wolf-like smile in return and waved slowly at them as Brooke tugged him down the hall. Michael waved goodbye and ducked his head into his locker, almost like he was hiding. Jeremy tried to look over his shoulder and back at him, but only had time to see Chloe’s smile fall as she turned back to Michael, before Brooke dragged him around a corner.

Jeremy blanched. “Wait, hold on, why are you- What were you guys-?”

“No distractions!” Brooke insisted as they marched out of the school. “Remember, Jeremy, no boy is worth your education. We have _work to do_!”

 

 ***** ***** *****

 

Eighteen pages, seven snack breaks, four mental breakdowns, and three passing practice tests later, Jeremy was standing outside of the exam room feeling like the world was about to tip sideways and send him hurling into the abyss.

“I feel like the world’s gonna tip sideways and hurl me into the abyss,” he said through gritted teeth. He never quite realized how much the classroom door looked like the Doors of Death until he didn’t have any choice but to walk through it and face his inevitable demise.

Michael slung an arm around his shoulders, steering him down the hallway towards his locker. “Dude, you’re gonna be fine, I promise. Brooke knows her shit.”

They stopped in front of Jeremy’s locker. He didn’t open it.

“I can’t do this,” he said instead, staring at the numbered knob. Maybe if he never opened his locker, then chemistry would never start. Yeah. That was a plan.

Michael turned and gripped his shoulders, spinning him around to look at him encouragingly. He rubbed his thumb over the skin where his neck met his shoulder, and a chill went up Jeremy’s spine. “Jer. Light of my life. The PB to my J. The Pac to my Man. Luigi to my Mario. You can do this.” He paused, and his lips quirked down. “Except, maybe not that last one, since they’re brothers and all.”

Jeremy couldn’t help but smirk, feeling warmth begin to filter through his dull, icy panic. “The Mario to your Peach?”

Michael snickered. “Yeah, except you’re definitely Peach.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes and shrugged off Michael’s arms, but he was still smiling as he turned to spin in his combo. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say.”

Michael grinned back. “You _definitely_ are, but- doesn’t matter _._ That’s not the point. What I’m _trying_ to say-” Michael leaned against the locker next to his, looping his thumb around the straps on his backpack. “Is that you got this, man. All you need to do is pass. That’s totally doable!”

“Honestly?” Jeremy opened his locker and started shoving books into his back. “I’d rather fight the Squip any day than deal with this. I’m- God.” He slammed the door shut. “I’m fucking terrified, Michael. Like, if I fail this, then it’s summer school. Or I have to take it again next year. I’ll be the only senior in the class, how pathetic is that?”

Michael’s considered this. “It’s not so bad. Remember how Rich had to retake Home Ec because he accidentally burned down one of the ovens? Nobody cared.”

“You _know_ that’s different.” Jeremy muttered, shrugging on his backpack. “And I mean- even if I _do_ have to take it again. It’s just gonna get worse, because it’s- it’s not like anything’s gonna change. I’m still gonna be- y’know. _Going out_ every night. I’m not gonna have time to study then, either.”

“Going out as Spiderman?” Michael asked a little too loudly, before Jeremy could stop him.

“Shhh-dude _!_ ” Jeremy hissed, looking around, but nobody seemed to have heard. “But yeah. That. And if I fail next year, I won’t graduate. Which is- God. I don’t- What do I do then? They’ll probably make me repeat senior year. You guys are all gonna go to college and I’m gonna be stuck here forever.” He fell against the locker, frowning. “Meatloaf Mondays for the rest of my life.”

“Hey, it’s been Vending Machine Mondays for us since like, the third week of freshman year,” Michael corrected. “But anyway. I promise that you’re not gonna fail. And even if you do, you _definitely_ aren’t gonna be stuck in high school forever. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t pass.” He poked Jeremy’s side. “And if you _do_ somehow have to re-do senior year _-_ which you _won’t_ \- I promise I’ll bring you Dunkin’ instead of meatloaf every week until you graduate.”

Jeremy groaned and banged his head against the metal. “Thanks, Michael. Means a lot.”

Michael’s eyes softened. “Jeremy, I’ve known you a _really long time_. And, I mean yeah, you panic a lot, and you can be kind of a dumbass sometimes, and you tend to overthink things-”

“Wow, thanks, boyfriend of the year right here-”

Michael cut him off. “But you’re actually pretty fuckin’ smart, when you want to be. And you _always_ pull through when it matters. Trust me, I didn’t spend ten years pining to not figure _that_ one out.”

Something warm nudged against Jeremy’s heart. “Oh.”

Michael gave him a crooked smile. “And, like, I kind of really like you a lot?  So please don’t actually fail and have to stay in high school until the end of time. Because that would actually, uh, really suck.”

“Oh.” Jeremy said again dumbly, then blushed. “I, uh. I kind of really like you too.”

Michael grinned at him. Jeremy went to say something else, but a chill traced down his neck and froze him in place. He whirled around just in time to see Brooke, looking chipper in a pink sweater with her hand poised in the air, aimed to poke his side.

He flinched away, curling into Michael as her finger darted towards him, missing his stomach by only a breath.

She pouted. “Aw. Almost got you.”

“Spidey-senses,” Jeremy told her weakly, cautiously folding himself out of where he’d buried himself in Michael’s side. “Guess they worked this time.”

“That’s a good sign!” Brooke encouraged, then turned towards Michael. “How’s he doing?”

“Freaking out,” Michael told her. “But what else is new?”

“Um, _”_ Jeremy said. “I’m right here?”  

“He’s not wrong though,” Brooke admitted, checking her phone and ignoring Jeremy’s sputtering. “Alright! We have five minutes. We should go in and get settled and stuff.”

Jeremy made a panicked noise, fear climbing his spine, but Michael just linked his fingers through Jeremy’s so their hands were pressed together. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, like he was talking just for him.

“Hey,” he said, pulling Jeremy closer to him. “You’ve got this. You’ve kicked supervillain ass, what’s a stupid piece of paper to _Spiderman_ ? And no matter what happens, I’ve got some sweet snacks _and_ a fresh gram at home to celebrate. It’ll be over in an hour. All you gotta do is make it through that. And then you’re free from chem forever.”

“Free from chem forever,” Jeremy repeated, nodding to himself. “Yeah. Okay. I got this.”

“Yeah! There you go, buddy!” Michael smiled softly, then ducked and pressed a quick kiss to Jeremy’s cheek. He squeezed his hand once before nodding towards the classroom door. “Now go kick some chem-ass.” He blinked. “Wait. Oh my God. _Chem-ass-try_.”

“Stop being gross in the hallway and come _on,”_ Brooke whined, pulling Jeremy away from Michael and through the classroom door. “We got some chem-ass-try to kick.”

Too quickly, the period began. Too quickly, his teacher explained the format and the rules and wrote the time on the board. Too quickly, the exam was handed out. Too quickly, Jeremy found himself staring at the blank Scantron and matching booklet.

 _You got this,_ he told himself, trying to believe it, and opened the test.

The hour passed in a blur.

He named chemical compounds and converted values. He measured chemical reactions. He made Avogadro his bitch, but got his ass handed to him by Boyle. Atomic numbers and element groups blurred together. He spent five minutes trying to figure out why his calculator result wasn’t one of the answer choices. Brooke’s eighteen pages swam in his head, just out of reach every time he landed on a question he couldn’t figure out. Every once in awhile he’d read something that he distantly remembered learning about in class and he’d scribble in the Scantron.

His heart was in his throat the whole time, his panic washing his body cold. His senses were in overdrive. Every pencil mark sounded like metal screeching against metal. Every press of a calculator button felt like a gunshot banging against his ribcage. Every page-turn of his proctor’s book sounded like a scream.

Once, he looked up at the clock. Twenty minutes left. He looked down at his sheet. Thirteen questions to go.

He tried to focus on his own breathing, but could only hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He swallowed. Nineteen minutes. _Come on, Jeremy. You got this. You got this._

He worked through the problems, racing against the minute hand. Twelve questions. Eleven. Ten.

The bell rang.

_Fuck._

His teacher stood up and announced that time was up, and to please put pencils down. Jeremy looked up in defeat, eyes wide and searching the rest of the room. Everybody else seemed to have finished, and were reluctantly handing their papers in.

He found Brooke, who was staring at him in concern at the doorway, ready to leave. _You okay?_

He shook his head. Brooke frowned, but was forced out of the room by the masses of students trying to leave. He turned back to his paper. Ten unanswered questions. He looked back up at the teacher, who was attempting to comfort a crying girl who refused to hand in her paper.

He took a breath, and scrambled to bubble in random answers. He heard Michael’s voice in his head, an adage from years ago. _When in doubt, go with C!_

“Mr. Heere.”

His teacher’s voice made him flinch, but he kept scribbling. “I’m almost done- just this one thing-”

“ _Mr._ _Heere.”_

“I just have three more _-”_ He filled in a B, blindly hoping it was darkened enough for the machine to register.

“If you do not hand in your exam right now, I will be forced to fail you.”

Jeremy bubbled in the final one and dropped his pencil. He looked up at his teacher, who looked bored and annoyed. “Done! Done. Sorry, sir. Take it. Sorry.”  

His teacher’s lips thinned, but he just grabbed the paper and set him free with the coldest, “Have a good summer, Mr. Heere,” Jeremy had ever heard.

He left the classroom in a daze, still feeling like the world might tip over and send him falling into the abyss. At this point, he’d probably welcome it.

He floated to his locker and opened it on muscle memory, not registering the numbers. He put his books away. He grabbed his cardigan. Tried to breathe. Focused on the promise of Michael and video games and smoking up. But his neck was still chilled, and he couldn’t figure out why.

Distantly, someone shouted his name. Jeremy blinked and looked up, the world still moving slowly around him. The masses parted, revealing Jake Dillinger sprinting towards him, seemingly moving in slow-motion through Jeremy’s exam-rattled brain.

 _“Jeremy!”_ He skidded to a stop in front of Jeremy, breathing hard. “Dude, we gotta fuckin’ _go._ It’s happening _now._ Come on. Let’s go. Rich’s got my car up front. _Move move move!_ ”

The chill that had been sliding down Jeremy’s neck turned to ice. “What? Why? What’s happening now?”

“The UN conference,” Jake said, and the world suddenly rushed back to full speed. “They moved it to _today_ . And if we don’t get to the city _right now,_ the Squip is gonna take over the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> -woo! i love some good banter before the world explodes!! jenna rolan is baaaaack!! and that UN conference!!! daaaamn  
> -hmmmm i wonder what chloe and brooke were talking to michael about? hmmm.....  
> -i PROMISE the action is coming back again now!! thank u for bearing with me for the past few chapters lol they were necessary. i promise you'll get action. you'll find out what brooke's plan was. you'll see what brooke/chloe were talking about. you'll see if they defeat the squip. you'll see if everybody survives. it's all coming. i promise. we're almost done, fam  
> -don't pretend y'all didn't have a dance unit in gym. it was humiliating. we all got through it. kept us humble.  
> -hopefully the next chapter won't take 10 years. things are finally starting to settle down in my life, so here's hoping it comes sooner rather than later.  
> -jeremy forgetting about his chem final until the day before?? #relatablecontent  
> -i also uhhhhhh have no fuckin clue how netscape navigator works. we're just gonna pretend michael is right. cool. (ps: this is the 'unique developmental processes' mentioned in like, ch6 xoxoxo)  
> -i'm on [tumblr!](http://danisnotofire.tumblr.com). come say hi!
> 
> OH ONE MORE THING! i wrote a bmc boyfs [assassins au](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708487). check it out. i'm really proud of it.
> 
> kudos and comments are ALWAYS thoroughly adored!!!

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from shakespeare! (original ik). it comes from a quote that's essentially like "too bad there aren't any mirrors that show you how AWESOME YOU ARE." 
> 
> lmao i h8 doing chaptered works bc i suck at updating so i'm hoping to get this done in either a few very long chapters or im gonna just add the rest of it in one big chunk as a second chapter. 
> 
> i haven't written fic in a few years but here we are. shoutout to debi @ debusya.tumblr.com for helpin me out and turn this into something objectively less shitty. 
> 
> im danisnotofire on tumblr if u wanna say hi! please comment lmao i #live for them


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